That First Spark
by kenyizsu
Summary: Somehow, Lyndon always finds himself in the middle of the biggest mayhem, even after the End Days. As he struggles to find his path, the scoundrel is dragged into an attack on the Realm of Hatred against his will. Yet, what he finds there may very well change his life, and entrust him with an unfamiliar role he must embrace... for the good of all the world.
1. Chapter 1

**_That First Spark_**

 ** _Chapter 1_**

Lyndon was absolutely convinced that the Apocalypse started on the day Johanna, the Nephalem Crusader hero of Sanctuary, declared war upon the Realm of Hatred.

So… not so much of a war, but more of a raiding party sprinkled with some assassination of a key figure.

Now, being a professional scoundrel, looter, thief, con artist and just about every other such man, Lyndon should have been thrilled and seen this opportunity to literally raid a part of the Burning Hells as the ultimate test of his skills.

Instead, Lyndon was certain they would all die.

The writings they have recovered and read about the Realm of Hatred did not bode well: The Book of Cain specifically stated that it was the most heavily populated area in the Burning Hells, making it a sort of capital. Numberless fortresses belonging to numberless factions of demons that constantly plotted against each other, occasionally erupting in an all-out war.

Johanna had gone mad, there was no way to ignore it any longer.

After Malthael's fall, Lyndon began to drift away from the Nephalem who kept on going around the world, hunting monsters of all sorts. The scoundrel himself wanted to find that treacherous bitch Rea, get the answers out of her about why she killed Edlin when their marriage had been such a happy one, then hopefully kill her and be done with this hellride. But no such luck: of course the woman was nowhere to be found around the city of Kingsport, where she said she would be waiting. Part of Lyndon wished she was caught and killed by the remaining forces of Malthael, and that her death was painful, but he had a feeling things weren't this straightforward. They never were when he was involved, it seemed.

So with his brother's avenging postponed, Lyndon had to find other excuses to put some distance between him and Johanna, which was also not an easy thing to do by a long shot. During their hair-rising adventures in Sanctuary, the High Heavens and even Pandemonium, Lyndon knew his companions well and trusted them fully, despite his original loner and drifter nature.

That all changed, however.

Something was definitely off about Johanna, as if something snapped in her. She had done what no other Crusader could ever do: avenge the Zakarum faith by killing the Prime Evil, and via him (her? Them?), Mephisto who had been responsible for the fall of the church. Supposedly there was another part of a Crusader's quest, talking about purging Sanctuary of all evil. A detail Johanna constantly and vehemently brought up when she was asked to just stop and take a goddamn rest every once in a while.

Lyndon had to wonder: where exactly did "evil" start and stop for a Crusader? Was it only about monsters and demons? Killers, mass murderers as well? Petty thieves? Con artists? People who were forced to commit a crime because they had no other option? People who stole food because they couldn't afford it? Despite being a hedonist in life, Lyndon knew the nature of "evil" wasn't always as clear as some believed. His own scoundrel career started when he stole some fruit for a hungry friend who couldn't afford it.

It was unclear whom Johanna was referring to when she said "evil". And this scared Lyndon, if he had to be honest with himself.

But so far, the Crusader only focused on leftover demons, monsters and quite hideous factions like the Coven, even if she was a bit too trigger-happy about them. Lyndon had begun to fall behind, declining more and more invitations to "looting adventures". He started going to other cities, but as luck would have it, Johanna's path sometimes crossed his. Those times, he had no other choice but to accompany her. These quests were often too weird for words. Once, they literally went to the Vault, the nest of those irritating little shit Treasure Goblins. For what reason exactly, Lyndon couldn't tell, but he was a tad bit distracted by the huge **mountains** of gold they found everywhere. Killing Greed, the Baroness of the Treasure Realm resulted in literal rain of money, so Lyndon couldn't really complain.

Still, after that Vault raiding party, Lyndon once again went on his separate way. He needed to be alone, to perhaps come to terms with what happened to his brother, and somehow, just _somehow_ straighten out his life finally. He couldn't do this while dodging weapons and magical projectiles flying at his head. Lyndon found himself slowly avoiding more and more his usual haunts: gamble houses, guilds and brothels. At first he tried to trick himself into believing he still loved his old hobbies, but eventually he had to realize he had become fed up with them. Sure, the occasional pickpocketing still filled him with life, so he didn't fully lost his edge, but after Rea's treachery he positively found himself avoiding women.

So, it just so happened that one night, in a random city's random inn Lyndon was silently sitting at his table, sipping away his beer, lost deep in thought, when the door of said random inn almost imploded. Stepping through the wreckage was Johanna herself who marched up to the startled scoundrel's table, stopped before him and announced in a grave tone:

\- We are going to raze the Realm of Hatred.

It remained a complete mystery how exactly the Nephalem found him like this. Lyndon tried to worm is way out of this downright suicide mission, but Johanna was adamant in dragging him along.

\- You **owe** me, scoundrel! – she hissed menacingly.

For a brief second, Lyndon wanted to spit into her face and scream that he owned **nothing** to her. What was wrong with her?! She had never **ever** said anything like this before, let alone sounding exactly like those rotten pieces of shit at the Thieves Guild from Kingsport.

From that point on, Lyndon was positive something was amiss with the hero. It was no longer just her zeal or her sense of duty.

Seeing no way of getting out of this one, Lyndon surrendered.

\- At least tell me why you want to go down there! – he pleaded. – How are we going to even get there?!

\- The Black Soulstone was destroyed. I am sure that the spirits of the Evils now returned to their realms to reform and resume their rule – Johanna mumbled angrily. – What better way to stop that from happening than to go there and beat them there?

\- You do realize we only buy more time at best, right? – Lyndon tried to reason. – Don't you remember what Tyrael said about this? No matter how many goddamn times the Evils are killed, they will reform eventually.

\- More time is better than nothing! – Johanna shooed him away as she rummaged inside her traveling sack.

\- What about Tyrael? Does he even know about this plan of yours?!

\- He is busy with the Horadrim. I left him out of this.

Their party gathered on a small clearing in a forest in the middle of smack-dam-nowhere, pulling up a hasty camp of a bonfire and the caravans of the companions. Lyndon shot a pleading look at the others, but they all just shrugged, indicating that they have had this conversation with the Nephalem many times before.

\- Kormac, you can't be on board with this! – the scoundrel hissed. – This is a suicide mission!

\- As a Templar, my duty is to fight evil – the big man mumbled uneasily. – Johanna makes a valid point, scoundrel. We cannot ignore this threat.

\- Eirena?!

\- If it helps stopping the Evils from invading our home yet again, I go along – the enchantress said, not meeting his eyes.

The reactions of the others, Myriam, Haedrig and Shen, were similar. Lyndon began to have that sinking feeling that Johanna had blackmailed each of them into this, maybe telling them they owed her as well…

He should have jumped ship right there and then. Things would have turned out differently.

But being accustomed to constantly needing to save the goddamn world, he remained, just _hoping_ that they would survive this shitshow somehow.

\- So… how are we going to— – Lyndon turned around, surrendering to his fate, but his voice soon faltered.

Johanna pulled and spread out a huge papyrus from her bag, onto the ground. It was filled with all kinds of runes that simply **reeked** of evil and formed a relative circle around the middle. She was busy placing candles in certain points, as well as dumping blood from vials on others.

\- What is that?! – Lyndon hiccupped.

\- I had been planning this invasion for a while now – Johanna said simply. – I had members of the Coven create this spell that will open a portal to the Realm of Hatred. They know their magic, being the remnants of the Triune and all.

\- You mean you **tortured** them, aren't you—Where is that blood even from?!

Johanna just sent a glance as if saying "duh", as she dumped the last of the vials onto the paper. Lyndon realized he didn't want to know.

As the last drop hit its surface, the scroll lit up with all the runes, and in a matter of seconds, a red oval-shaped portal was swirling before them in midair. Lyndon sent one last desperate glance at his comrades but both Kormac and Eirena dutifully readied their weapons. With a sigh of absolute defeat, the scoundrel reached for his crossbow.

\- Wait for us here! – called Johanna over her shoulder to Miryam, Haedrig and Shen. – We will return with whatever we can find.

With that, she brandished her signature shield and flail, then stepped through the portal, followed by her companions.

oooOOOooo

All in all, the tour in the Realm of Hatred wasn't nearly as bad as Lyndon originally thought.

Sure, the place itself was pretty fucked up, with shifting paths, hovering islands of earth and stone, looming twisted obsidian fortresses left and right, weapons, armor and corpses littered everywhere, and the general red hue of the sky, but overall… Lyndon's been through worse.

Like trotting through the razed High Heavens, fighting their way across the demonic army. Or facing Malthael.

Yeah, **definitely** facing Malthael.

Fuck that guy.

Lyndon was the most surprised to say this but passing through the Realm of Hatred was like a walk in the park compared to that. Sure, there were enemies, zealous demons who jumped on them from nearly every corner and high ground imaginable, and sure, sometimes the edge or tip of a weapon came uncomfortably close to maim the scoundrel, but nothing serious actually happened. Having an overpowered Nephalem on the team can do that. The enemies basically **melted** before her. It also helped that the place was strangely desolate, and not at all "heavily populated" as the Book of Cain claimed. Perhaps the denizens fell in the invasion of the High Heavens. Perhaps they deserted the place once the news of the defeat of the Prime Evil reached their ears.

Thankfully the little group of heroes ignored most of the fortresses and went for the biggest one, possibly the former lair of Mephisto. On their way, they had to use some portal scrolls to go back to their camp and dump all the useless loot they gathered in the fight. It was incredible what amount of junk fell off of these monsters all the time, borderline ridiculous.

But eventually they found themselves rushing on one of the corridors of the main fort. It was a charming place, really: filled with the usual assortments of weapons, torture tools, mutilated heads and limbs of demons, chains, and lit iron torches, so they could see where they were going of course.

\- So… what exactly are we looking for here? – Lyndon asked as he casually shot a charging demon with a triple bolt, killing the monster instantly.

Johanna didn't answer at first, but eventually she opened her mouth:

\- Anything that remotely resembles a reforming Prime Evil. We find it, kill it, and move onto the other Realms.

\- Great… an exclusive tour of the entire Burning Hells. Just what I always needed – Lyndon grumbled.

\- We are doing this for Sanctuary, Lyndon! Watch your mouth! – Johanna glared at him.

\- Do we really?! Honestly, Jo, you sound like a downright madman! **Obsessed** with the Evils – Lyndon finally snapped, lowering his crossbow. – What the hell is wrong with you?! You've never been like this!

\- I am completely fine, scoundrel. I just know my duty!

\- Yeah, and you sound **just** like Adria and Kulle! – Lyndon shouted, ignoring the obvious head-shaking of both Eirena and Kormac.

Johanna swiped with her flail and missed Lyndon only by a hair.

\- Watch. Your. Mouth – she hissed, pointing her weapon at the frozen thief.

Then she turned around and stomped away. Lyndon remained rooted to his spot.

\- Just go along with it, Lyndon – mumbled Kormac, awkwardly petting his shoulder as he passed by. – It is going to end faster this way.

\- How can you be okay with this?! – Lyndon stared at him, feeling sweat trickling down on his temple. – She has **clearly** gone nuts!

\- She just takes her duty very seriously – Eirena tried to defend her. – We all know how difficult that can be. And… she is right. We all owe her for—

\- We owe her **nothing**! – Lyndon hissed. – When was the last time she ever, _ever_ brought this up?! She always helped us because she felt it was the right thing to do, and we always helped her because of the same reason! How can you call her a "friend" when she is more like a debt collector at this point?!

Kormac looked away uneasily.

\- Let's just go – he mumbled. – The sooner we find Mephisto and kill him, de sooner we can leave here.

Lyndon wiped his sweating forehead, snarling at the Templar. He then grabbed his crossbow with both hands so hard the handle almost snapped, and defiantly stormed past Kormac, going after Johanna.

This angry marching lasted for a whole four steps, before Lyndon stomped on a strange (and apparently loose) grid of some kind that gave away and crumbled into the hole it was supposed to cover, dragging the screaming scoundrel with him.

After a brief, but terrifying fall, complete with a couple of hard bounces off of weird vertical surfaces, Lyndon landed face first in a heap of clothes. Struggling to his feet and realizing he somehow survived the descent in one piece, he could hear the distant, muffled and unintelligible shouting of Kormac and Eirena. He had no idea what words were spoken to him, but he took a deep breath and shouted back from the top of his lungs:

\- I'M OKAY! I'M ALIVE! TELL JOHANNA I FELL! I WILL FIND A WAY BACK TO YOU GUYS!

He could only hope his companions heard him. In any case, his voice should be enough indicator that he was still alive. That counts for something. Retrieving his crossbow from a nearby hill of textile, Lyndon began his sneaking around, exploring the place he found himself in.

It was some kind of storage area, maybe. There were distinct heaps everywhere, some were of weapons, others of armor, and the one he landed on was of textile and robes. He had no idea what the function of this room was. A storage? A collection of trophies from fallen enemies? That would explain the blood stains on many of the objects.

Hoping that no monster heard his shouting from before, Lyndon snuck out of the room via a huge doorway, arriving to a corridor. Picking blindly, he turned to the right and continued his way. The fort was eerie silent here, and the torches were few and far between. Lyndon got the distinct feeling of having tons of stone and ground above his head, meaning that it was probably the bowels of the building. Maybe a prison level or storages, or something.

Reaching the end Lyndon found himself facing a pretty uninteresting, one-winged wooden door that looked like it belonged into an inn, rather than the Evil Fortress of Evilness. The scoundrel uttered a soft prayer that he won't face a regiment of demons on the other side, he placed his hand on the handle, then with a deep breath he opened the way forward.

What awaited him beyond made him grow roots to the doorstep.

Behind the completely unassuming door a hall of incredible size lied. It was much larger than anything else they have seen so far, and what was even more bizarre, it was filled with mirrors. Literally, every inch of the walls, the ceiling and even most of the floor (except for two or three paths) were covered by those things. Torches burnt intensely, sticking out from the slits on the walls, their combined light giving the impression of a high noon on a clear day in Caldeum. The entirety of the Realm of Hatred did not have this much light in it as did this one hall.

Lyndon gawked, his eyes wandering at the sight, his own reflection looking back at him from a thousand different angles. Completely loss for words, the scoundrel finally turned his attention to the middle. A path among the floor mirrors led up to a pedestal and on the pedestal…

Lyndon quickly forgot about the hall and he rushed there, crying out in alarm.

In the middle knelt a huge angel, bound in chains. He (it was obviously a he) was in a **terrible** shape: most of his wing tendrils laid limply on the ground around him, torn out of their sockets, only stumps remained on his back. His armor was almost completely gone. Hooks stretched lobes of his fluorescent skin out like carpets from his back, arm and legs. Where his skin was still on his body, it was covered in scars and bruises, most of them swollen with a greenish-yellow hue. The angel's face was of course invisible, but it was framed by locks of white hair, and he had a broken pure gold tiara-like ornament on his forehead. He was staring before himself emptily and Lyndon realized he could actually see the angel's eyes for some reason: one red, the other blue. He constantly trembled, making the giant heavy chains around his form rattle.

Lyndon climbed the pedestal. This angel was obviously a hostage, kept here as an entertainment for the demons. Sure, the Angelic Host wasn't exactly the most sound or trustworthy ally of humankind, but they were still the good guys, opposing the demons. As far as Lyndon was concerned, they were an okay bunch, as long as they didn't start waving their weapons at him.

\- H—hey, can you hear me? – he called out as he arrived to the top of the pedestal, that was covered in mirrors, just like everything else.

The angel didn't react to him at first, but then he twitched violently, making his bounds rattle loudly, and he slightly lifted his head to look at the human. From up close, Lyndon could make out another strange detail: he could actually see glimpses of features in that characteristic darkness. He thought he saw fangs, or perhaps tusks growing out of the mouth. He definitely saw scars and claw marks there, and the nose was missing like in the case of a human skull. The fanged mouth breathed heavily, and a white drop of saliva escaped from it. Other than that, the angel made no sound.

\- It is alright! – Lyndon tried to sound reassuring, holding up his empty hands. – See? I'm not here to hurt you. I have a few friends. We will bust you out of here, I promise.

The angel trembled again at the motion, and Lyndon realized he probably thought he would get hurt.

\- Hey, it is alright. I won't hurt you, I promise – he whispered, slowly, ever so slowly reaching out for the enormous head.

Those fangs could probably bite his arm clean off if the angel lunged forward, but he could barely breathe, let alone move. Lyndon had to wonder just how long he had been down here.

\- Everything is going to be alright – he said soothingly as he gently placed one palm onto the top of the white hair, hoping to calm the prisoner down with the soft touch.

The angel promptly blew up at this.

Lyndon reared back, shouting in alarm as the large form burst into a million sparks that swarmed him like fireflies. He fell on his butt, nearly rolling down on the stairs of the pedestal. The scoundrel forced his eyes to open, but by that time the angel and his severed wing tendrils were all gone, and all that was left was a small bundle of pure warm, yet solid light on his laps. Lyndon froze up, staring wide-eyed at the thing that vaguely resembled the shape of a curled up bird, maybe a dove.

Hands shaking madly, he reached out and touched the bundle. Nothing happened this time. Hesitantly, Lyndon scooped it up into his arms. Still nothing. Standing up, he began to wonder what the actual hell has just happened and what he should do with this weird light dumpling, when he heard footsteps and voices from beyond the door leading here. Only half-thinking, he stuffed the bird-thing into one of his larger pouches, throwing out the gemstones from there first, then he grabbed his crossbow and whirled around on his heel, running to the door. He would meet the enemies in the corridor, and jump them.

Lyndon kicked the door open, but it was only Johanna, Kormac and Eirena. He let out a shaky breath and lowered his weapon.

\- Lyndon, you are okay! – the enchantress exclaimed happily and hugged the stunned scoundrel.

Kormac scowled at the sight, but he too let out a relieved sigh.

Only Johanna seemed to be absolutely indifferent towards their reunion. Instead, she frowned, looking past Lyndon and into the hall. Pushing past them, she entered there, looking around bewildered.

\- This—It should be here – she mumbled. – I don't get it.

Then she turned around and glared at Lyndon.

\- What did you find here?! – she demanded.

Lyndon felt the hair on his neck stand up at that gaze. He almost moved his hand to place it onto his pouch but stopped himself a moment too soon.

\- Nothing – he finally said, sounding bored. – Only the chains. And the mirrors. Oh and the hooks. Not even a single demon, can you believe it! It was so lonely down here without you guys.

\- It must be some kind of weird torture chamber – Eirena mused as she too took a look inside.

\- Yeah, but what about the mirrors? – Kormac asked.

\- Who can tell what the demons are thinking, honestly? – Lyndon shrugged, putting on his best (and _damn_ good) poker face.

\- Good point – the Templar nodded.

Johanna glared at Lyndon some more before taking one last sweeping look of the hall.

\- It should be here – she hissed to herself.

Lyndon felt his hand growing sweaty at this.

She was looking for the maimed angel. She had to be. But why?! How did she even **know**?!

\- Whatever! Let's just find Mephisto and kill him again! – Johanna finally grumbled angrily, as she stormed past her companions yet again, disappearing down the corridor.

The three friends looked at each other, then shrugged and rushed after her. In the meantime, Lyndon tried to ignore the light bundle in his pouch, pulsing warmly and steadily like a heart.

* * *

 **Hello and welcome to my first ever Diablo fanfic! IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN THE FUTURE OF THIS FIC, PLEASE READ THIS!**

 **Okay, so "That First Spark" is currently a oneshot, for an important reason: This whole story came to me in a flash, and I just had to write it down. Thing is, I'm not exactly sure how to continue it. I'm currently brainstorming with ideas and possible storylines that would span over numerous chapters of course. But for now nothing is certain. I WOULD like to make it into a longer fanfic, but without a good story I'm not going to.**

 **I would really welcome and appreciate your** **helpful criticism and reviews** **, though! Keep in mind, I do NOT ask for possible story ideas, merely whether this little oneshot is good or not.**

 **Also, Disclaimer: the Johanna in this fic is NOT the one from Heroes of the Storm. I have a Crusader named Johanna, after Jean d'Arc from France ("Johanna" is the Hungarian equivalent of "Jean"). It somehow fitted her perfectly. I only discovered the HoTS character AFTER I made my Crusader.**

 **As for now, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! :D Here's hoping I can write it further!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Guess who's back, beitcheeeesssssss?!  
**

 **I have a strong feeling this story will be just fine. I have a general story line planned, and the style and method in which I want to write it. I have done similar things before, and I had been pretty successful in them, even if they were riddled with hiatuses.**

 **Oh yeah: there WILL be HIATUSES in updates. The simple but 100% honest reason is: my motivation and inspiration changes over time and I often switch between them and leave projects to rest for months at times. But I can say this now:**

 **This story will NOT be dead, unless I SAY it is dead. If there's no "Author's Note", just silence, that means that I merely allow it to rest for a bit.**

 **Anyway, screw all this nonsense I'm sprouting. You are here for the story. And I hope you'll enjoy the ride. ;)**

 **Diablo (c) Blizzard**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 2_**

Never before had Lyndon been this happy about a failed mission.

They did not find Mephisto, no matter how much they looked, how meticulously they searched. It was safe to say that the Lord of Hatred was not reforming in his own Realm. Either that, or he was actually clever and self-conscious enough to hide himself well. For all they knew, maybe the Seven Evils really were completely merged together now, and only Anu knew where they (it? He? She?) would show up again. In the end, the band of heroes had to retreat because their bodies began to feel the negative effects of the Burning Hells.

Johanna was **furious** at this. She raged in their camp, screaming curses at the Evils, her anger so great everyone shied away from her. Even Shen shut the hell up and wisely lied low in his tent, a feat Lyndon originally believed he was incapable of.

The scoundrel himself had another good reason to keep himself as far away from the Nephalem as possible. The little light dumpling… bird… whatever, kept on pulsing steadily in his pouch, having a barely registerable weight, but all the more heat in return. It wasn't hot, far from it, yet its constant radiation was disturbing after a while. Lyndon figured he may have had one more day before his (quite incredible, thank you very much!) poker face failed and he would be found out. Looking at the Crusader, slipping out of her usual character completely, Lyndon's every instinct screamed at him that he cannot allow that to happen.

He needed to get this… angel (it was still an angel, right?) back to the High Heavens. Maybe there they could do something, give him back his body?

Seriously, how did angel anatomy even work? All Lyndon knew was that angels were surprisingly light for their sizes, even that jerk Imperius barely had the weight of Kormac (despite being 3 times his size, at least), mostly made up from the armor he wore. That would explain the weightlessness of the light dumpling.

Then, in the middle of the night, as everyone was preparing to go to sleep, and even Johanna let out her fury, Lyndon felt his pouch move. It was just a slight twitch, but it immediately raised the alarm in his head and he realized he had to get out of here before anything else happened. So Lyndon gathered his own stuff silently, and while everyone went to sleep, except for Kormac who kept watch, he slipped away like a shadow. The Templar had no chance of noticing the thief in action, and Lyndon, as a self-imposed rule, always travelled lightly, with a maximum of two bags.

The scoundrel marched through the forest until he reached a road, then he turned in the direction of the closest village. He kept on walking throughout the night and into the next day, allowing his inner compass, memorized map and general sense of direction to guide him.

Finally, after the exhausting fast-paced marching most of the day, Lyndon arrived to a small town called Seram. He was completely covered in dust by then, even if crossbow looked battered, and his treasures safely tucked away in his bags, so he looked like any ordinary traveler. The village wasn't exactly big or famous, all Lyndon knew about it was that it was supposedly pretty goddamn old, one of the oldest towns out there. But that was pretty much it.

The most important thing was that it had an inn, thankfully, and not even that bad of an inn, apparently. The bed he paid for didn't crawl with bedbugs, at least, and that was enough for Lyndon. He placed his belt with the pouch onto the small night table by the window, then practically fainted into his bed and fell right asleep, not even bothering to close the curtains so the afternoon light filled the room completely.

The pouch twitched again and it opened, the seemingly lifeless light dumpling sticking out of it, touched by the afternoon light and the buzzing of the street below.

oooOOOooo

Lyndon had to ask himself: why couldn't he have normal dreams, like other people?

Instead of the usual dumb pictures and stuff that made no sense, he had a debate with himself, trying to explain the events of the last few days.

Why did he do this? Why did he touch the tortured angel?

Because the poor bastard was in great pain and possibly shock. Lyndon just wanted to calm him down, before he hurt himself, and the scoundrel had found during his travels that physical touch was the best way to anchor panicking people to the ground and hopefully quell their outbursts. Granted, people before this did **not** tend to blow up into a million sparks then gather into a light dumpling. Why did that even happen? Was the angel dead, and now Lyndon was carrying around his remains in some gruesome way?!

But no, the bundle had definitely moved in his pouch last night. That, and it kept on pulsing stubbornly, like a heart. That had to mean it was still alive in some weird way! Lyndon wrecked his brain until something hazy surfaced: Tyrael mentioning that angels were made up of light and sound. Interestingly enough, they **still** apparently had some sort of skeleton, if Urzael's pretty brutal death had been any indication (Lyndon vividly remembered the angel's spine and ribs exploding from his back). However that anatomy may have worked, maybe it was possible for an angel to somehow survive this… radical shape-shifting. Maybe it was like… a coma? Hibernation? A cocoon? Okay, whatever. At least the angel was (possibly) still alive, which was good. Pleased with that answer, Lyndon moved on.

Why didn't he trust Johanna? Why did every instinct of him screamed "danger", "stay away!", why did he feel he needed to keep this light dumpling away from her?

Hard to explain with words, but Lyndon was always a person who didn't ignore his own feelings and sixth sense. Johanna **changed**. Why? How? Lyndon didn't know, but it wasn't for the better, he was sure of it. That horrifyingly close call with the wicked flail had only confirmed his suspicions. It wasn't just a slip-up, a snap, an outburst. The Johanna Lyndon used to know would have never done something like that, let alone act this way. She had been adventurous, heroic, a true altruist, even if she possessed a surprising level of sarcasm, maximalistic outlook, and gentle cynical humor. Never this… this raging madwoman, **obsessed** with the hunt for evil. The change was sudden for him, too. Perhaps because he didn't spend that much time around her anymore and only saw her occasionally. But her change in character was drastic. Brutal, even.

 _It should be here_. What was **that** all about? Did Johanna thought they would find Mephisto inside that weird mirror hall back in the Realm of Hatred?

Lyndon somehow doubted that. She sounded so… completely lost. As if she was certain she would find a certain thing in there, yet when she saw nothing, she lost her footing. And… she also immediately assumed Lyndon had found something there. It wasn't "Did you find anything here?", it had been "What did you find here?"

 **"** _What_ did you find here…"

She **knew** something had been in the hall. Perhaps even what that something **was** , exactly. How did she know? Why was it important for her?

Was it her original goal to find the angel in the first place, and Mephisto's murder would have been an added bonus? That would explain her rage at the end, when it became clear that they had failed. But why keep it a secret, why not tell her group that they had two targets?

Lyndon didn't know. However, his inner voice telling him to distance himself away from the Nephalem became all the louder now. She must not get her hands on the angel. He didn't know why, exactly, he just **felt** this way.

And when his sixth sense, the one that had bailed him out of countless horrible and seemingly hopeless situations and traps before, told him to keep the bundle of light away from her, then by all the gods, he would do it!

Still, it would have been nice to know just why he felt this way. Lyndon could feel the answer pounding in his head, trying to break out and show itself.

Wait.

Something was **actually** pounding on his head!

Lyndon's eyes fluttered open and the first thing he beheld was two red eyes staring down at him from pure darkness.

oooOOOooo

He woke.

He didn't know where he was. He didn't know anything, really.

It wasn't dark, though the light was fading in this place. Was something bad going to happen?

He didn't want that.

He looked around in fear. He had to hide. From—from them, him, her, everyone. He only knew this. But where?

He saw the form lying not far from him. It looked similar to him: two arms, two legs, one head. Yet, it still looked weird, different.

But as he watched the figure in the growing darkness, a certainty bloomed in him: he had to remain close to it. So he crawled towards it. Then the surface disappeared from under him and he fell.

Before he could scream in terror, he smacked into another surface that was somewhat, but not too terribly deeper than his original place. He pushed himself up, mild pain throbbing in his head. He shook himself and kept on crawling towards the figure that now seemed to be higher than him.

He felt fear grabbing and choking him. He didn't know what everything was, what was happening! The darkness was deep now, it would swallow him and he would be taken back to the place—the one with himself staring back at him a thousand times. They would take him back there!

The stranger. He had to reach the stranger! He was a friend, yes—he could help him.

Mewling in fear, he crept faster, struggling to climb up to the strange pedestal the figure was lying on. His little legs kicked and dangled in mid-air, but eventually he pulled himself up there somehow. He climbed onto the torso of the stranger and stared down at the… face?

He recognized this face. It was a friend. It didn't try to hurt him. It said everything would be alright. He was so happy to see it again! But…

Why wasn't it moving?! Didn't it feel the coming darkness and the cold it brought?!

He sobbed as fear took hold of him again.

He wanted to be safe! He wanted to hide!

In desperation he raised his little hands and began hitting the face with them. Wake up, he wanted to scream.

Wake up!

I'm afraid!

Help me!

The darkness is coming!

 _Wake up!_

Finally, the stranger's eyes fluttered open and two brown orbs looked up at him.

oooOOOooo

Lyndon's first instinct was to scream and punch whatever the hell had crawled all up in his face. Instead, his battle-honed senses took over and he went very very still, not breaking eye contact with the thing above him.

He realized it was night time, probably just after sunset, meaning he slept only a couple of hours. Still, the growing semi-darkness did not explain the bottomless darkness that was looming over him. It was a small pool of absolute blackness, with two light red, almost peach-colored eyes staring out of them like two small beacon fires. It was also framed by small locks of surprisingly white hair that shimmered in the semi-darkness, and at the top sat a strange gold tiara-like ornament with two little wing-shaped twigs growing out of a tear-shaped center.

He had definitely seen this before…

Then the darkness let out a pitiful mewl, and Lyndon realized he actually saw emotions in the red eyes: they were full of fear, confusion and uncertainty. Okay, so it wasn't a mindless beast ready to tear out his eyes.

Finally, Lyndon's memory came back from the deep sleep and he recognized the white hair and the gold tiara. It was the same, only smaller, as in the case of that maimed angel back in the Realm of Hatred.

The scoundrel decided to take his chances and he started moving slowly, pushing himself up from the bed so he could assess the situation better. The little alien thing moved in sync with him, pulling back, but refusing to leave his chest. Lyndon saw a small, almost toddler-like body belonging to the deep darkness and the white hair. It had stubby arms and legs, small hands with fingers curled up in agitation. Also, it glowed in the darkness. There was a soft light that the white-ish blue-ish skin emitted, allowing Lyndon to even see anything in the growing darkness. There were small tendrils of somewhat stronger light growing out of the thing's back.

Lyndon realized he was staring at a miniature, absolutely naked angel sitting on his chest.

\- What the hell? – he blurted out the only thing coming to his mind at the moment.

The dwarf angel mewled again in clear desperation. Lyndon moved to sit up, but instead of tumbling down, the little visitor lunged forward and buried his face into the clothes, short arms and legs encircling his torso as best as they could. He wasn't going anywhere, that was for certain.

Lyndon sat on the bed like an idiot, with a mini angel stuck to his chest, and he had absolutely no idea what to do. A myriad of questions buzzed in his head, making it shut down, and he just stared dumbfounded at the small creature who barely weighted anything at all.

How did this angel even get here?! Why did he cling to Lyndon like the human was his lifeline?

Helpless, Lyndon glanced at the pouch on the night table. It was empty. Panic racing through his entire body, he made a move to jump up and look around frantically, but a thought stopped him on his tracks.

The small angel stuck to his chest looked kind of like the large maimed angel in that mirror room. And the light bundle appeared when the large angel blew up. And now the light dumpling was gone and instead there was this small angel that looked like the large angel.

Sooo…. this small angel **was** that large angel?

\- Is that you? – Lyndon looked down at him.

He looked back with fearful eyes, but did not answer.

\- The angel from the mirror room. It's you, right?

Only a pitiful whine came as an answer and the angel buried his invisible face back into the fabric of his shirt. Lyndon got the distinct feeling that he was afraid of the dark. Well… angels were creatures of light after all, so he couldn't really blame him for that.

But seriously though, where did that large body of his go?! How did he even change into this toddler from the light bundle?

Lyndon thanked his sixth sense for goading him into leaving his old team behind. He could not have imagined the chaos that would have broken out if the little angel appeared in the middle of the camp. He quickly snatched up the thin blanket from the bed and bundled up his guest in it. He didn't know if angels could actually feel cold, but he figured he could never be too careful. This seemingly calmed down the little one a bit: he snuggled into the cocoon until it appeared he would sink into the wrinkles and disappear forever. The red eyes finally closed and only a pair of barely noticeable slits remained.

Mind reeling from this new situation, Lyndon gently set the bundle down onto the bed and made a move to stand up.

The angel burst out in an earsplitting wail at this, and scrambled out of the blanket.

\- He—hey, calm down! Before everyone hears—! – Lyndon shouted but he was quickly tackled by the little one, small arms encircling his torso once more.

The scoundrel sighed heavily, then covered him up again with the blanket.

\- Okay, I get it – he mumbled. – You don't want me to go.

Surrendering to his fate, he lied back down onto the bed with the angel on his chest.

\- What is going on? – he mumbled to himself.

He absentmindedly patted the white-haired small head and the angel purred in return.

This was just ridiculous, the scoundrel decided. But he appeared to be neck-deep in this for the time being, so he might as well go with the flow.

* * *

 **I pride myself in being a reasonable fangirl in most things: I don't force ships that doesn't make any sense, I'm trying my damnest to stay true to the characters when I write/draw about them (level of success may vary, though), and I put a good story above all else, so I put effort in my works. Again, level of success may vary, though.**

 **So for those who might be worried that chibi-Inarius has no reason to be like that, fear not, it does have a reason that will come up later. I've tried to make sense out of this choice.**

 **Smaller trivia: that bit about angels being really light-weight is actually simply my addition, I based it on a strange notion I always get when watchign the Imperius vs Diablo cinematic. Blizzard is the undisputed KING at making amazing cutscenes, there is no doubt about that, yet for some reason when Diablo sends Imperius flying with her tail, the way he tumbles across the ground and smacks into a pillar seems so... floaty to me. As if Imperius weighted a fraction of what he actually looks like. That's where this idea comes from, but it isn't actually canon.**


	3. Chapter 3

**In which we learn that communication is key to pretty much everything.  
**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 3_**

Lyndon woke up the next morning with a start.

He dreamt about their camp back in the forest clearing and it made him realize that the others might be looking for him even now. He had to leave Seram, before they could catch up to him here! He already wasted his one-day head start. He tried to get out of bed, but his eyes caught the blanket package on his chest, and after a split second, the night's events came back to him.

He grumbled curses under his breath. This whole situation was so _alien_ to him that he had to constantly remind himself that no, he did **not** dream all the stupid shit, they really did happen in some bizarre way. Now he would have to get used to carrying a miniature-sized angel around, and **not** forget about him.

He looked at his new charge again. Angels were supposed to be immortal, right? God knows how old Tyrael actually was. Lyndon had the distinct feeling that this white-haired angel too was pretty ancient, or at least older than him by a long shot. Yet as he observed the little bundle, sleeping peacefully, small fingers curling around the blanket's edge…

He felt like he was looking at a newborn.

Did the angels even have a grow cycle? Like… were there children among them? Or did they actually fell out of that Crystal Arch thing fully grown and battle-ready? Lyndon, cursing his imagination, couldn't help but picture a one-day old Imperius: small and stubby as a toddler, but just as much of a colossal asshole as he was today, flailing around a stick angrily, dressed in armor that was much too big for him. The result was pretty hilarious. Lyndon knew he would never again be able to look upon the Big Bad Archangel of Valor without this image popping up in his mind.

Okay, so… Let's assume that angels **did** have a grow cycle. How and why did this possibly old or even ancient angel revert to his "child stage", so to speak? Where angels like those mythical birds, the phoenixes? Does their immortality come at the price of having to "restart" their lives periodically somehow?

\- I walked through the entire Silver City, helped saving an Archangel, and climbed the Silver Spire itself – Lyndon mumbled to himself. – Yet I still don't know a damn thing about these guys.

He realized he needed to get this angel back to the High Heavens as fast as possible, not only to keep him away from Johanna, but to also to get him into the care of those who actually **knew** what they were doing. But to do that he would have to go out to the streets with the angel, and somehow get themselves to Tyrael in Westmarch without too much fuss.

Yeah right. Like that's gonna happen.

Lyndon didn't need his sixth sense to know that this wish is more than likely futile. Still, it didn't hurt to sometimes just go with it and hope for the best. This was the least his adventures with the Nephalem had taught him.

\- Alright… we need some clothes for you – he mumbled, looking at the sleeping angel.

He was about to make a move to walk out of the room and quickly find a tailor to buy some children's clothing, but stopped himself a moment too soon. He thought he could make the trip before his small charge woke up, but if he **didn't** , then there would be hell to pay, if the angel's reaction last night was anything to go by. A panicking being of light and sound, with glowing skin, light tendrils growing out of his back and with no visible face, screeching like a banshee and running up and down would definitely throw a wrench into the "staying low-key" plan. But he also couldn't wait for the angel to wake up and bring him along.

Which meant he had to wait for him to wake up and then talk some sense into him to wait for the scoundrel without flipping out.

Lyndon sighed heavily. By now, he really should have gotten used to not having a concrete fool-proof plan and just winging everything on the fly.

Flinging himself into the only chair of the room, Lyndon massaged his templates. Despite his constant loud protesting during tedious quests and travelling, he **was** a pretty patient man indeed when the situation called for it. After all, patience was the trademark of a good thief, and he was an excellent one. So to busy himself, he opened three secret pockets in the inside of his coat and took out their contents to observe in the daylight.

Lyndon believed in luck strongly, despite being a pretty down-to-earth guy generally. He had three personal good luck charms that he kept on himself at all times, each of them claimed through hair-raising adventures of varying length.

One was called Ribald Etchings: a curled up smaller scroll depicting quite a few risqué drawings of lewd acts. Originally, Lyndon stole it from a noble just to mess with the guy, and then possibly post it on the local news board with name, address and everything. That night, however, he got dragged into a mess with some back-alley gang of deadly lunatics and he could only slip away by some miracle before they gutted him. He believed this piece of paper had allowed him the escape, so he held onto it ever since then.

The other one was a Skeleton Key that looked something straight out of the Burning Hells at first glance: it had an almost unearthly-looking, complex-cut and multi-toothed bit that could somehow fold into the correct shape to open pretty much any lock. Its bow of course resembled a skull. Lyndon stole this from the Thieves Guild at Kingsport, when he finally slipped away from them for good and began his journey across most of the world. Getting to its casket was a real pain in the ass, but after he had actually held the key in his hands, the way outside was ridiculously easy as no locked door could stop him.

The last and most recent was Slipka's Letter Opener. He had actually got his hands on this one in Caldeum during their time there. Grand Vizier Slipka was a well-known legend and role model among thieves who used knives. Stories claim he was able to gut three men, pick two locks, and open the mail with this letter opener, all in the time it took most men to draw their clumsy daggers. Lyndon too held this guy high in regard, and when they actually travelled to Caldeum, Slipka's former home, he couldn't help it: nearly every night and day when Johanna didn't pick him for a mission he would slip away into the city, past the guards and ransack every last abandoned noble's home he could find. He did manage to discover it eventually, in the safe of a building that suspiciously looked like it was a part of the main palace. Looking back, Lyndon realized he basically robbed the Lord of Lies, Belial himself, and felt incredible pride in it.

None of these trinkets actually held any power, as far as Lyndon knew. They were ordinary objects that would fetch maybe 20 gold each on the market. But he believed stubbornly in their luck-bringing power.

Lyndon squeezed them in his hands. May they give him luck on this new adventure as well.

He somehow knew he was going to need it.

oooOOOooo

He woke up to light, surrounded by warmth and softness. It was nice in here, a part of him did not want to leave.

He opened his eyes, and saw the friendly stranger sitting not too far from him on another strange pedestal-thing.

He sat up groggily, blinking like an owl. Sleeping was nice, waking up… not so much. He yawned.

The stranger was holding three strange objects in his hands, but he looked up from them and said something he didn't understand.

A pause.

The stranger repeated the string of sounds.

He blinked at him, then chirped back, expressing his confusion, sleepiness and slight frustration with the sounds. He demanded the stranger speak in a matter he understood! But the stranger just stared at him wide-eyed.

Another pause.

He allowed his annoyance to take the form of a loud sound and let it out for the stranger to hear. Surely he would understand this!

The stranger did jump up from his pedestal and rushed there, repeating a short string of weird sounds over and over again, kind of like "hash hash" or "hush hush" maybe. It sounded like the stranger wanted to silence him. He begrudgingly complied, expressing his grumpiness with low humming.

The stranger pulled away a bit and began pushing and poking his own temple with his fingers, while saying something that sounded tired. He then took a deep breath, poked his own chest and said very very slowly:

\- Leendonn.

He blinked. Was the guy… trying to tell his name? What kind of name was "Leendonn"? It sounded wrong!

\- Leendonn – the stranger repeated again, pointing at himself.

Oh, so it **was** his name. Okaaaaayyyy…?

He nodded slowly, signaling that he understood (even though he still thought it was such an **ugly** name). The guy pointed at him now, and he realized it was his turn to introduce himself.

He straightened up in his sitting position, pushing his chest out, eyes closing. He would allow nothing else but the purest, most perfect tone to come out. It was the polite thing to do, after all, to proudly and clearly sing out his name that was…

…

 **What** was his name?

His eyes flew open, mouth slightly agape, ready to let the sound out. Only… there was no sound to let out. But he was sure he knew what to say just a moment ago! Where did it go?!

Oh no.

Oh no!

What was his name?!

Instead of the pure melody that would signal his identity, only a terrible keen sound of fear and desperation burst from him, as his small hands flew to his face in shame, feeling the flow of tears on his cheeks.

He had no name!

He was nobody!

He allowed the ugly sound of fear to grow in volume, as if trying to expel this vile emotion from his body with it.

oooOOOooo

Now, to be absolutely honest, Lyndon did not really expect a great many things to happen in these last days. From storming the Realm of Hatred, to carry around a giant angel turned light dumpling in his pouch, to have said light dumpling turn into a mini-angel in the end.

But the **last** thing he saw coming was communication problems.

After stepping into the Silver City and being able to perfectly understand the first actual living angel in the flesh (that jackass Imperius) talking, then after that understanding every other angel's speech, battle cry and general cursing at the demons, Lyndon kind of believed it would be the same with this mini-angel.

Apparently, the proud race of seraphim only developed the ability of understandable speech in adulthood. Because this little guy was chirping left and right, loudly and softly, vehemently and rapidly, but it honestly sounded like a nest full of hungry bird hatchlings than actual words.

He also apparently did not understand Lyndon's simple question of "how did you sleep?".

Lyndon quickly tugged away his good luck charms and rushed there to silence the little angel when he let out a pretty annoyed-sounding screech. Thankfully, he understood "hush hush" at the very least, as he fell silent and only a grumpy "hmmmmmmmmm" kept coming from him.

\- What did I do to deserve this? – Lyndon mumbled to himself in defeat, massaging his temples.

This "language barrier" apparently annoyed the both of them. They had to find a work around this somehow!

Deciding to start simple and rudimentary, Lyndon pointed at himself and slowly, clearly pronounced his name. The angel blinked, watching him intently. Lyndon repeated again. Finally, he received a nod in return. Relieved, the scoundrel pointed at the angel. That's when the weirdest thing happened.

The little angel straightened up and closed his eyes, just like nobles did when they were about to sprout their impossibly long name and titles. Lyndon braced himself for the incoming chirp-storm. But it never did. Instead, the angel's eyes widened and he stared before himself emptily, his posture suddenly hunched, as if someone had stolen his voice. After a brief but heavy pause, the little hands flew to his face and he burst out in a mixture of tears and a heart-wrenching keening, that was impossibly sad and desperate.

Lyndon didn't even know angels could cry.

Instincts kicking in, he immediately scooped the little one and began rocking it left and right, shushing him all the while.

To be honest, he wasn't good with children, at least that was what he believed. Granted, he had never had to deal with them for long, except for that one time… The thought of actually having children (or a spouse, for that matter) sent shivers down his spine, he simply couldn't picture himself settling down and live a life of normality. Edlin had deserved that simple luxury. He did not.

\- Hey, it is alright! It's okay! No need to cry! – he cooed, desperately trying to stop the screeching that reached ear-hurting levels at this point.

Did the angel forget his name, and only realized it now? It looked very much like he had tried to say it with the outmost conviction, only to recognize he didn't remember.

\- I—I'm sure you will recall your name in time! – Lyndon tried to comfort his charge, slowly calming him down. – It's no problem. We will give you a nickname, until then, alright? How about it? You like nicknames?

The angel's whining slowly died down, and he blinked up to the scoundrel from between his arms, tear still filling his eyes to the brim. He let out a pitiful mewl. Lyndon gently poked the small chest and blurted out the first word he could think of:

\- Quiet.

The angel blinked again.

\- How about it? You like it? It's a nice nickname, right? – Lyndon smiled down on him, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. – Quiet.

The angel sniffled.

\- Kvaiet? – he chirped uncertainly, trying to mimic the word.

\- Yes. Quiet – Lyndon nodded, pointing at the small one again.

He himself didn't know why he gave this name. The little angel so far had been anything **but** quiet. Guess his inability to actually talk any human language is what prompted the scoundrel to come up with it.

The little angel lifted a small hand and placed it on Lyndon's chest.

\- Leendonn – he chirped.

\- Yes – the man nodded.

A pause.

Then the angel moved his hand onto his own chest.

\- Kvaiet.

\- Yes.

Quiet sniffled some more then nodded, rubbing his eyes with small fists.

\- Yyes – he echoed as best as he could.

oooOOOooo

Thankfully, Quiet lived up to his newly given name, when Lyndon visited the nearest tailor with him stuffed in a backpack that he stole from one of the rooms next door. It was a shaggy little thing, really, the owner was probably relieved to get rid of it, Lyndon reasoned. Before leaving the inn, he tried to explain his plan to Quiet as simply as he could, trying his damnest to sound grave and serious.

\- You stay in the bag all the time, alright? – he gestured at the backpack. – You stay **silent**. Hush-hush. Alright? – he placed his finger before his mouth.

Quiet needed a few more repeat of the speech, but eventually he nodded convincingly. So they set out, with Lyndon walking as fast as he possibly could without drawing attention to himself. The angel's borderline weightlessness had been masked by Lyndon's money in the bag. The trip to the tailor was smooth enough, thank the stars for that. The scoundrel gave a convincing story about his nephew who traveled a lot with his parents, and he really wanted to give the little lad some well-made clothing perfect for travel as a gift. Equipped with a cape and hood as well, of course! The tailor, bless his simple heart, did not even bat an eye at the request and he offered some variations. Lyndon chose one collection, and this one time, paid for the whole thing instead of stealing it or trying to get a discount.

With that done, Lyndon turned around to return to the inn briefly, hopefully dress Quiet up and then they would be on their way. Easy-peasy. Everything's just fine.

Lyndon calmly walked up to the inn's building, about to place his boot onto the first step of the stairs leading to the entrance, when someone grabbed his arm from behind and pulled him to the side with surprising force.

By the time the scoundrel realized what was happening, they were next to the building, in one of the few alleys of the village. He quickly managed to tear his arm out of the grip and spun around to deck the attacker in the face, but his raised fist froze in midair.

\- Myriam? – he asked in disbelief.

The fat vecin lady eyed him critically, but her trademark carefree smile was nowhere to be seen now.

\- Do not go in there – she said in a low, deadly serious voice. – Leave Seram immediately, and go to Westmarch as fast as you can. Tyrael can help… maybe.

\- Wait—what? Why? – the scoundrel stammered.

Sure, he knew all about Myriam's foresight and its incredible accuracy, but it had never been aimed at him before, but always at Johanna. Receiving the words now felt incredibly weird.

\- We are here, in the inn. Johanna is asking around about you – Myriam hissed hurriedly. – She wants to find you… and him – she pointed her staff at the backpack.

Right on cue, Quiet timidly peeked out from the baggage and locked eyes with the woman who didn't seem surprised at all.

\- Wait, how did you—?! – Lyndon tried to find some sort of foothold in this sudden madness.

\- Listen, I cannot see the future of our family and that scares me beyond anything I've ever seen – Myriam went on, a pleading tone in her voice. – But I see yours… fragments, at least. You will need help, and from a lot of unconventional places too, to see this journey through. I do not know much, but he – here she pointed at the angel again –, **must** be kept out of _her_ hands. Or any of us. Stay with him, Lyndon! Keep him safe, no matter what happens!

\- Myriam, you are scaring me – the scoundrel paled at the urgent, almost terrified expression of the woman. – What is going on?! Do you know what happened to Johanna?

The vecin whipped her head to the direction of the inn's entrance, then turned back to Lyndon.

\- No time! – she breathed. – I will buy you some time, but you must leave **now**. Here, take this! – out of seemingly the folds of her skirt she pulled a huge book: Cain's codex. – Read the part about our World's Creation, and everything connected to it. This knowledge might be useful later on.

Lyndon almost dropped the incredibly heavy book as it was practically thrown into his arms. All he could do was send one last pleading look in the vecin's direction.

\- And one more thing – Myriam took a deep breath, brushing her hair out of her eyes, and for once, that playful shimmer returned to them briefly. – I can see this will be one hell of a journey, maybe even crazier then what we've lived through together. Opportunities will open up for you, Lyndon. And… vecin focus their sight and see the future by not losing track of it, and **forcing** it to show and unravel itself, when we most need it. Remember that… you will probably need to do the same.

\- What—Myriam, I do not see the future—

The woman leaned forward and touched her forehead to his. Lyndon was too taken aback to do anything. On his back, Quiet chirped uncertainly and reached out, stroking gently the red cap with one tiny hand. Myriam finally pulled away and smiled sadly and apologetically at him.

\- May your path always be straight, clear and full of glory. May your new family take you to greater heights than ever before – she said what sounded like a traditional vecin farewell, then she spun around and rushed out of the alley.

Lyndon stood there frozen, then he tried to shake himself free from the shock. He tried to call her name out, but just then he heard her voice coming from the general vicinity of the entrance, cheerfully bubbling about some "sights" the group just had to see here! It would help their focus and well-being, she insisted.

Part of his brain still completely shut down, Lyndon's sense of foreboding took over. He turned in the opposite direction and _ran_ , leaving his crossbow in the inn's room, and his former friends and family behind.

* * *

 **Did you guys recognize the three good luck charms? Those are the three possible Legendary Scoundrel Tokens you can find for Lyndon in-game (I have none of them, had to look them up on Wiki T-T ). It would be nice to have those in my inventory! I bring Lyndon to EVERYWHERE with me! He kicks some serious ass, afterall.**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed this last chapter as well. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 4_**

Riding a horse **sucked**.

Riding a horse into the unknown, without a single weapon on him sucked even **more**.

Lyndon felt his nerves close to snapping point. With one fell swoop, the world jerked the ground out from under his feet, and hours later, he still struggled to regain his footing. As a thief, a conman, a rogue, Lyndon always stood on top of things, at least partially, knowing the reasons and their consequences, knowing what is happening currently around him and in the world.

This was all gone now.

He was running from his former comrades and friends, with a goddamn baby angel on his back, no weapon in hand and no plan prepared and thought through. Myriam's terrified behavior infested him as well and he was fighting to shake it off now. That woman had always been cheerful, optimistic, posing a happy outlook even in the bleakest situations. Seeing that all gone now… Lyndon couldn't even imagine what kind of foresight she had had.

Realizing he couldn't take any more of this stress on the back of a running horse, he pulled the reins and shouted:

\- Stop! Stop, damn you! I want to stop!

The stupid stubborn animal he stole from the stables of Seram's merchant, finally obliged and came to a screeching halt, right under the foliage of a lonely tree in the middle of the endless meadow. Lyndon practically threw himself off of the horse, leaving Quiet's bag strapped to the saddle and he stumbled to the foot of the tree, collapsing into a heaving heap.

The last time he had felt this aimless and full of fear, was when Edlin had been captured and Lyndon was forced to flee for his life from Kingsport.

Curling up into a ball, Lyndon hid his face into his crossed arms, and desperately gulped down the air.

What was he supposed to do now?! Where should he go?! What was even _going on_ , gods damn it?!

Panic filled his mind, tearing apart strings of thoughts that tried to form in order to answer these questions and make a plan according to them.

\- I should have never agreed going to that fucking realm in the Hells! – he chided himself. – I should have never—

A small hand on his arm made him jerk up and stare before himself. Quiet stood there, somehow climbing out of the backpack and off the horse.

\- Leendonn – he chirped sadly.

\- I want to be alone, Quiet – Lyndon choked, shooing the angel away.

The little one drew back uncertainly, then looked at the horse. Lyndon buried his face back into his arms, sinking back into his misery.

He was so fucked.

So damn _fucked_.

Apparently, he was on the run from a Nephalem who killed the Prime Evil and Death itself, along with their armies of monsters. How exactly was he supposed to avoid her?! She travelled to the depths of Arreat Crater, to the High Heavens and to Pandemonium. There was no corner of Creation she couldn't fight her way into.

Why was he even on the run from his former comrade and friend? A few months ago he trusted her with **everything**. She had been there when Lyndon had found Edlin's dead body. She hadn't left him behind even he had tried to escape into alcohol from the crushing guilt and grief, and had been a real ass to her. She had been there when they discovered the note hidden inside that cursed dagger…

She also nearly cleaved his head off of his neck with the flail in the Burning Hells.

Where did it all go wrong? Was he at fault, somehow? Lyndon honestly wouldn't have been surprised if that had been the case. He seemingly had the talent to completely fuck up every close relationship he might develop in his life.

\- Am I cursed? – he mumbled hopelessly to himself.

He had to get this angel back to the High Heavens somehow, he knew. Otherwise he might just ruin the little one's life completely, just as he had done before with everyone else.

 _"_ _Stay with him, Lyndon! Keep him safe, no matter what happens!"_

Yet, Myriam's warning echoed in his head persistently. The vecin had always been correct about her predictions before. Assuming she was wrong could be a big mistake.

Lyndon wanted to claw his own skin off of his head in frustration, but strange shuffling sounds drew his attention again. He lifted his head up, only to see Quiet sitting next to the horse in the dust, heroically fighting with the clothes the scoundrel had bought for him. He was currently wrestling with the tunic part, huffing and puffing with great intent, immensely focused on the problem of somehow making the neckline wide enough to squeeze through it. His tiny wings, that usually took on a rather rigid and firm shape, now darted around as if showing the flow of thoughts in that little head.

Despite his miserable state, Lyndon couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the scene, as he slowly dragged himself up from the ground and walked there.

\- That's not how it works, exactly – he gently took the clothes from Quiet, still smiling at the scene. – Let me help.

He held up the tunic the correct way, showing the angel the two sleeves. Quiet chirped excitedly and threw his hands up in the air, quickly catching on what to do. Putting the tunic on was easy enough, but Lyndon had to wonder about the trousers. As much as he could remember, he hadn't seen a single angel in the High Heavens with pants. They tended to wear long robes, leg armor, or a combination of armor and a long skirt, kilt, whatever the heck you called that. Lyndon personally have always called it a skirt. He braced himself for the incoming tantrum throw, but Quiet seemed completely okay with putting those on as well. Finally, the scoundrel hung the traveling cape around the tiny neck and shoulders, pulling up its hood to cover most of the silver-white hair, and gently nudging the wings behind the textile. There wasn't much to do about the bottomless darkness of the face, but other than that, Quiet now passed pretty well for a small child.

The clothes weren't exactly perfect fit: the sleeves were much too long and the small hands constantly disappeared in them, and the hood could have been a bit larger, covering the golden tiara completely. But for now, it had to do, and it was good enough. Lyndon made a mental note of taking exact measurements of Quiet when they get to the next town and have enough peace and time to visit another tailor.

Yes… That's what they needed to do.

Think in small steps. Do not lose sight of the whole picture, but always focus on the next small step. If you want to do everything at the same time, you will go crazy. Edlin had often used this tactic, and he taught this to Lyndon as well, who had tended to be all over the place when he was younger.

Lyndon exhaled loudly, slowly regaining some of his calmness.

Find Tyrael. Got it. Will do.

Granted, the last time he saw the fallen angel, they were gathering in Westmarch just after the defeat (and hopefully death) of Malthael. Tyrael told them of his plans to rebuild the Horadrim, and it looked like he would remain in the city to achieve that. With any luck, he was still there.

\- Westmarch it is – Lyndon mumbled to himself then looked down at the patiently waiting angel. – Let's go, Quiet! We are going to visit a relative of yours!

He scooped the little one up and climbed back on the horse, placing him before himself on the saddle. Quiet chirped happily and petted the neck of the animal which snorted in return.

\- Horse – Lyndon said as he goaded the animal into cantering along the road.

Quiet turned to him with wide eyes.

Lyndon petted the neck of the mount and repeated again.

\- H—ghhh—horz – Quiet tried to pronounce the word, holding onto the edge of the saddle for balance.

\- Horse.

\- Horssss.

\- Close enough – Lyndon sighed.

Then he went on teaching words to the angel as they travelled along. If his inner compass was right, they were headed to Gea Kul, where they could get on boat and cross the Twin Seas to Khanduras. The city was still pretty far away, and Lyndon decided to use this time to teach some words to Quiet. If they were to stick together, they needed to understand each other.

oooOOOooo

Quiet quickly realized that not only Leendonn's name was ugly, his entire language was that as well.

The strings of sounds his partner was teaching him rang hollow and held no emotion. But it was clear that Leendonn and his entire kin were incapable of producing the sounds of feelings he knew so well. Even that strange fat female, who had that unearthly aura around her, used only this ugly language. Relenting to his fate, Quiet allowed Leendonn to teach him words, just hoping that one day they will be able to talk on some level. In the meantime, he tried to ignore the growing anguish in his chest at the fact that every single last thing in this world seemed to have a name (ugly as they might have been), only he didn't. It was disheartening, to say the least, made him question his own existence inside his own still jumbled and confused head.

So he threw himself into learning from and about Leendonn all the more, to focus his attention elsewhere.

It seemed, these creatures ("huumann", as later Leendonn taught him on the way) expressed emotions in various ways, not just with sounds. Leendonn sometimes let out a pretty loud and tired-sounding breath, usually accompanied by poking at his own face in strange ways. His words were annoyed and angry when he snarled something at the horss, and his face frowned during those. Sometimes, when Quiet was trying to pronounce a new name many times, Leendonn would open his mouth wide and laugh for some reason, often tilting his head back slightly as well. It became clear to the angel that huumanns used mostly their heads (and sometimes their hands) to express an emotion, as well as their tone.

It was still incredibly strange, however, how _neutrally_ they said most words. When Quiet said "sky" in his own tongue, it was laced by joy and feelings of relief and freedom. But when Leendonn said "sky", it rang hollow and unassuming, as if the human had no opinion connected to it. In the beginning, Quiet believed Leendonn was just this disinterested in the world around him, but as time went by, he realized it was simply how this language worked.

He honestly hated the idea of speaking such a lifeless tongue, and decided that he would find a way to lace the words with emotions, once he knew them well enough, of course.

Quiet was so lost in the teaching that only when Leendonn stopped the horss and got off of it, did he realize how dark the sky has become. Panic racing through him, he practically jumped off of the large animal and landed on the huumann, small arms encircling the neck. Leendonn said something reassuring then waved his hand around and told him:

\- Night.

Quiet immediately decided he did not like the night.

oooOOOooo

Lyndon was expecting the fearful reaction of the little angel, and wasn't particularly surprised by getting flying-tackled by him either. He realized he needed to somehow teach Quiet not to be afraid of the dark. Chalk that up to the to-do list, won't you? Lyndon started to suspect that if he really gave thought to it, he could fill a medium-thick book with all the stuff he was needed to do.

Think in small steps.

Lyndon focused back on the present when his stomach announced rather unceremoniously that he indeed skipped every possible meal for two days at this point. The scoundrel sighed deeply, he only had a few loaves of bread on him that he stole from the merchant, along with the horse. Not exactly a lavish dinner, but what can one expect in the middle of nowhere?

At least they were in a meadow, making camp next to the massive river simply called "Ager" which separated this land from the Torajan Jungles, and not in the scorching desert of Caldeum. Gea Kul was still at least another day's riding away, and Lyndon was already sore from it. He rarely rode on horse, leaving it as a last resort and preferring more comfortable forms of travel, mostly caravans and ships.

\- I only have to do this until Gea Kul – he tried to reassure himself, as he set his backpack down on the ground.

The spot he picked for the night was probably the most characteristic patch of land in this endless meadow. On the bank of the massive but lazily drifting river stood a huge rock sticking out of the ground like a memento. Lyndon settled to its base then, with Quiet still in his arms, wandered up to the nearby bush, the only plant larger than five centimeters far and near. How the heck was it growing here all alone was a mystery the scoundrel wasn't particularly eager to solve. He recognized this kind, its berries were edible, and that's all that pretty much mattered right now. But as he examined its branches, he noted with dismay that the berries were all dried up or overripe, its season possibly long passed.

Surrendering to his fate, Lyndon gathered some dry-looking twigs from the bush, walked back to the rock and sat down on the ground, pulling out two loaves of bread from one of his pockets.

\- Hungry? – he offered one to Quiet who finally let go and settled next to him.

The angel stared at the bread, then took it uncertainly, looking at Lyndon. The scoundrel took a large bite from his own, and his charge mimicked him, nibbling uncertainly at the crest. Quiet grimaced at the food then gave it back. Lyndon wasn't exactly surprised: seeing how absolutely clueless Tyrael had been about the art of eating in his early days as mortal, was proof enough that angels did not consume any food. The scoundrel merely made sure Quiet was the same.

The angel looked around uncertainly, still clearly nervous from the dark. He pressed close to Lyndon's side who was busy eating his measly dinner and listening the sounds of the grazing horse in the growing darkness. He began making a small campfire out of the twigs, pulling out the basic piece of flint and firesteel from another pocket, tools that pretty much every traveler with a common sense kept on himself. As he leaned over the pile of twigs and tried to strike a spark, he dimly registered Quiet standing up and wandering off a bit.

A few strikes later small flames erupted, giving some light in the darkness. Lyndon leaned back with a huff, pressing his back against the cold stone. He was just about to contemplate how much he should sleep before setting out again, but Quiet's chirping drew his attention. The little angel stood by his side, holding up a small branch full of perfect juicy large berries with one small hand. He chirped again and stuck it under Lyndon's nose.

\- Wha—Where did you get these? – the scoundrel blinked at the gift, baffled.

He took it, then looked at the bush. Maybe the darkness played tricks with his vision, but the plant **definitely** looked greener, larger, and also it was practically collapsing under berries. Lyndon stood up and walked there, not believing his eyes. He could have sworn there had been **nothing** on it a minute ago!

\- Am I going crazy? – he asked himself.

Quiet walked up to the bush as well, gently snapping off another branch full of berries. Right before the scoundrel's eyes, the twig grew back and bore new fruit in a second.

-… Did you do this? – Lyndon turned to Quiet, who merely stared back.

Holding up the gift once more, he uncertainly popped a few dark red berries in his mouth. They had incredible flavor, rich, juicy and sweet. Much better than the stale bread he had just had.

\- Alright. I have no idea how you did it, but… thank you – Lyndon finally said, quickly finishing the rest of his snack.

Quiet cocked his head to one side.

\- Thank you – the scoundrel repeated, smiling down at his small charge.

The angel chirped back, little wings flaring up from behind the cape. The red eyes closed, indicating that he too was smiling. He then stuffed a few berries in his mouth himself, letting out a content "mmmmmmmmmmm". Oh… so he **could** eat food, at least some types. Maybe he just didn't need it?

Lyndon shrugged the question off as the two of them plucked the juicy treats from the bush.

oooOOOooo

Quiet really didn't like the night, but he could take it if he was close to Leendonn, he decided.

He had seen his friend frown at the uselessly small plant, and when he went up to it and touched it, he talked to it about being larger and more helpful. Immediately it changed into his current state, and Quiet was happy to show Leendonn his findings. See? All he had to do was to ask the plant nicely! After they had their little midnight raid from the bush, they went back to the small fire, and Leendonn settled down on the ground, lying on his side and slightly curling up. Quiet managed to dig his way into the huumann's lap and press himself close to the steadily moving chest that had that strange but comforting " _thump thump_ " sound coming from it. Two large arms encircled him and he quickly fell asleep, purring contently.

His first night spent with Leendonn was peaceful and uneventful, thankfully. This one, however, was not like that. Quiet dreamt.

It was such a weird dream too, he couldn't make heads or tails of it. It started out with lots and lots of mirrors, all showing him. As he looked into them, he got the distinct feeling that this small body was not his original one, but once again, the clear answer eluded him.

He really hated mirrors, he concluded angrily.

As if obeying his thoughts, the image melted away. Instead he saw strange shadows move around him. He saw a flash of gold and blue and a distant, deep voice boomed:

\- _Justice be done!_

Quiet didn't exactly understand the words, but he felt the conviction and the determination that emanated from them. He also somehow **knew** it was an angel talking, one of his own kin.

Then gold was gone and was replaced by green and grey scales and a smooth female voice:

\- **My love, you—we have done it—the W—**

This one was far more broken, and unlike the male voice, it was laced with unnecessary sweetness, a dangerous edge and a malevolent subtone that sent shivers down his spine. He really hated this voice, he realized.

He wanted to hear the male angel talk more, but now the dream did not comply. Instead, the two voices began talking at the same time, slowly but surely melting together into one ear-splittingly bad chorus.

\- _Many a battles have fought together—_

\- **You are a most interesting angel, I'll say—**

\- _What? —us, what are you talking ab—?!_

\- **Do you believe it can be done?**

\- _Where have your judgement gone, brot—? Your reason has left you!_

\- **Content with p—?! We can finally** ** _win_** **the Eter—!**

\- _Abandon these pointless daydreams, In—! You know fully well what is our—_

\- **You will not hurt our chi—! I will make you see what they can—!**

\- _Silence! You are not making any sense!_

\- **_You are a blind fool!_**

Shut up! Shut UP! SHUT THE HELL **UP**!

Quiet covered his ears as the two voices practically screamed at him, he screwed his eyes shut, trying to will the images away. It was just a dream! Just a stupid dream! He wanted to wake up! He **would** wake up!

And then he felt it, a sensation that washed the dream away.

A life had just been extinguished nearby.

* * *

 **Man, getting the ending of this chapter down was a bit of a brainstorming.**

 **I would like to thank the two Guests (PaulM and JC) for reviewing the story. You guys are so kind, I wish I could reply to your words! I very much appreciate them, though, and I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story as well, wherever it may take all of us! ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter 5_**

Dreaming about how you are going to die in the next five minutes puts a whole new twist in the subject of "sixth sense".

Lyndon's eyes flew open, senses on high alert. Sure enough, towering over him stood a dark figure with a dagger that gleamed in the dying light of the campfire, just like in the dream. And just like in the dream, Lyndon's first instinct was to swipe with his legs in a wide arch, sending the attacker to the ground. The gruff man's stream of curses was cut short when his head came smacking down with a sickening _crunch_. Lyndon, battling with the intense feeling of déja-vu, grabbed the weapon out of his hand then vaulted over large rock, one arm clutching Quiet to his chest, the other dragging his backpack along. As he rolled over the top of the cliff and down to its other side, he heard some kind of projectile (either a knife or a bolt) clinging against the stone. He was also dimly aware of the fact (as well as remembering from the dream) that the horse was cut down by the bandits.

A moment of pause was the reward of his quick reflexes, and Lyndon spent it pressing flat against the cold rock, heaving, one hand flying to cover the small mouth of the angel who just now woke up completely, wings flaring up and wide in alarm. The scoundrel tucked his newly acquired dagger in his belt and his free hand wandered to one of his pockets, where he held the pouch of blinding powder in it. He heard shouting from beyond the stone.

\- Joan, you idiot! He was **asleep**! How the fuck can you not kill a sleeping bastard?!

If his dream was correct… Yes! Lyndon threw some of the pouch's contents to his left, just as a face appeared there, with a sword raised to strike. The man cried out and clawed at his eyes as the powder burnt them. Lyndon lunged forward and embedded the dagger into between the neck and the shoulder, making hot blood gush out from there. The attacker collapsed without so much as a whimper and died on the spot.

Now… came the part where Lyndon would die, at least in the dream. The scoundrel whipped around in the opposite direction and sure enough, there stood another bandit with a raised crossbow, ready to fire. Lyndon launched himself just as the bolt went flying. In his dream, the arrow had flown straight into his forehead, killing him instantly. As he moved forward, he realized he wasn't fast enough, and the projectile would indeed kill him that way.

That's when Quiet screamed and the world blew up around them in red.

oooOOOooo

He didn't know what was going, he was dragged around like a ragdoll, unable to even tell where the sky and the ground were. Panic and adrenaline raced through his body, his wings flared up, ready to lift his body off of the ground and out of danger. But he was pressed close against the now heaving chest in which the " _thump thump_ " sounds grew faster and more erratic. A hand covered his mouth, which was a good thing because he wanted to scream from fear. He held onto the large palm to steady himself, wide red eyes staring forward into the darkness. He heard shouting, voices full of anger, and a part of him realized they were in grave danger.

Leendonn threw something to the left and a huumann cried out, covering his eyes and dropping his sword. Leendonn jumped there and stabbed him in the neck. Quiet stared at the erupting blood, a few droplets smacked him in the face. At this point, every sense he had was flaring with danger basically. He wanted to bolt, to run, to get the hell away from there, because there were more attackers, always more and he had to keep moving or they would grab him, cut his wings off and slay him like a pig.

For a brief second, Quiet found himself in a place that was grey and dead and full of destruction. He saw claws, fangs, crude armor and weaponry, all coming for him, he heard deep and powerful snarls and roars of pain and anger.

His senses suddenly cleared up as if someone pulled a curtain from his eyes. He felt everything around them in the real world. Leendonn's blood racing across his body. The small tremors spreading in the ground as his boots pounded on it. The blood of the two downed attackers and the horss, soaking into the grass. The last sputters of the dying campfire, its heat escaping into the cold night air. The river lazily drifting by, not caring about the fight happening on its bank. The stars sparkling above them. The air whistling around the arrow that flew straight at them.

Quiet zeroed in on the incoming bolt and he knew it would kill Leendonn if it hit.

This was not right! This was not to be! He **demanded** the world to change!

Thus, the world obeyed him.

oooOOOooo

Lyndon smacked into the stone, his lower lip tearing up. He stumbled back, completely dazed but still alive, the feeling of déja-vu finally leaving him. Grabbing his painfully throbbing head, Lyndon whimpered and tried to just catch up with everything that happened in the last five minutes.

Deadly silence settled in, helping him focus.

They—they had been attacked, right. Too late did Lyndon realize that they were probably far too close to Kurast, one of the most notorious cesspools of villainy in all of Sanctuary. This band of three rouges had been probably either heading or coming from there, when they spotted the light of the campfire along the road. Lyndon had truly believed that literally no one ever went this way, but apparently he had been dead wrong. Somehow, he had managed to dream about the events happening right up until the point of the flying arrow, at which everything just… fell apart. Just like the world around him.

Did he die?

He cracked one eye open. Nope, he was still in the camp, staring at the… rock?

Lyndon blinked.

The rock… the rock somehow twisted into a new and impossible shape that kind of resembled an attacking octopus or something, with one offshoot reaching out before Lyndon. The scoundrel had smacked into that tongue-like formation and he quickly realized it was in the way of the flying arrow too, that now lied on the ground broken. Around Lyndon the ground changed drastically. As if he was suddenly standing on the back of a giant hedgehog, spikes of earth stood rigidly, pointing at the sky in a tilted way. Only problem was: their peeks were no longer ground, but morphed into perfect pikes, blades and lances of steel. Some of these maimed the guy and his crossbow, standing not too far from them.

\- What the actual—? – Lyndon hiccupped, unable to express his bewilderment in words.

This…

What just happened?!

A small whimper coming from Quiet slightly shook Lyndon out of his stupor and he lifted the angel up to eye level, checking for injuries. Thankfully it seemed Quiet had escaped the whole chaos without a scratch, only a few droplets of blood was on his clothes and face. Lyndon quickly wiped those off.

\- Alright… it's alright. Everything's fine – he mumbled softly, trying to sound reassuring, even though he too had no idea what was going on.

Quiet whimpered again and reached out to Lyndon's chin. Oh right, his torn up lip. The scoundrel wiped the small stream of blood running on his chin with the back of his hand.

\- It's nothing to worry about. Just a small wound on my mouth, see? No big deal – he smiled awkwardly, shaking off the stinging pain coming from his lip.

He stopped and took a deep breath as he cuddled the shaking Quiet back to his chest. Okay. Alright. They were still alive. That's good. He leaned closer to one of the spikes, and could actually see the lumps of dust, earth and stone slowly, steadily changing into actual steel and taking up the shape of a lance at the peek. The material itself went against every law of nature ever and simply **decided** to change properties.

Lyndon glanced down at the fearful Quiet.

\- Did you do this? – he asked, but Quiet just blinked up to him.

Lyndon repeated the question and touched one of the spikes. The angel just shrugged helplessly after a pause.

Temporarily giving up on finding the answer to that, the scoundrel took the backpack that miraculously survived the mayhem, and waded out from among the spikes, back to the campfire and the slain horse. Was it really possible that the angel did all of this? Lyndon knew that certain angels could possess incredible magical powers: the Angiris Council had proven that well, and even Tyrael had managed to accidentally wake up thousands of zombies across the countryside when he had fallen. But they were the leaders of the High Heavens, they were supposed to be strong. This little angel could not be a member of them. What about the lower ranks? Did they have magical powers? Not to mention, magical powers that somehow twisted materials into **completely** different ones? Sure, idiotic alchemists have tried to make gold out of everything in the past, Lyndon knew the stories well, but he also knew that their experiments prove fruitless. It was simply not possible to do such a thing.

Up until now, apparently.

\- Oh man, we really need to get to Tyrael – Lyndon shook his head, trying to refocus on the present and the problem it held.

Their horse was dead. Gea Kul lied god knows how far away still. They were close to Kurast, the city probably was just on the other side of the river, which meant they had to get moving **now**. Lyndon grimaced at the carcass of the horse. As much as he hated riding, he would have been very happy right about now to climb back up onto its back. With a defeated sigh, he searched the pockets of the saddle to make sure he had everything on him.

Finished with that, he took off the backpack and offered it to Quiet.

\- Climb in – he gestured at the sack. – We need to walk a lot today.

The angel silently complied, sticking his head out of the bag to see. Lyndon hoisted him back up on his back then began his long and hopefully uneventful tracking towards Gea Kul, wiping off the remaining blood from his newly acquired weapon, still trying to figure out just what the heck has happened back there.

oooOOOooo

Their luck finally turned in the morning. Lyndon ran into a farmer who was headed to Gea Kul on his cart full of hay, pulled by a packbeast. At first the old man was understandably vary of the scoundrel (the closeness of Kurast made everyone jumpy around here), but eventually allowed him on his vehicle when he showed his empty hands then offered quite a few gold for the ride.

The old man wasn't exactly the talking type, which was fine by Lyndon. He carefully warned Quiet to stay hidden inside the bag, then leaned back on the stack of hay and spent the time deep in thought. He came to the conclusion that it really was the angel that created all those weird phenomenon back at the camp. He had to wonder if it had been involuntary or voluntary, and what else Quiet could do.

Perhaps he had been kept in that weird mirror hall specifically because he had such dangerous powers? Could be, although Lyndon couldn't really see how a bunch of mirrors were supposed to stop magic like this.

But that still didn't explain the literal premonition he had had in his sleep just before the attack. Everything happened **exactly** , down to a tee, as he had seen in the dream. It even ended at the arrow, with everything falling apart. Lyndon originally believed it meant he would die from the bolt, but apparently, only the world blew up and changed shape around him. Or… he was really supposed to die there, but Quiet's sudden power changed the outcome? Lyndon tried to think without muttering to himself, which was pretty hard. The last thing he wanted was scaring the old farmer even more.

The Archangel of Fate, Itherael had said during the Battle of the Silver City, that he could decipher the destiny of nearly everything from that weird glowing scroll of his. Everything… except for the Nephalem. It was also made clear that, while the fate of all things seemed predetermined, there was a chance that something came along and changed it drastically. The Prophecy of the End Days was a great example of this: it should have told of the end of the world, but when Johanna stepped up, it became obsolete pretty fast.

So, Nephalem were free of Fate… But they still had their own future, because Myriam could always see it pretty clearly. Lyndon quickly shook his head and let that thought go, after all, he wasn't a Nephalem, only a human.

Still, where did that premonition come from? Why was it so precise? Lyndon had never had this bef—

Oh.

Alright, he hadn't been completely honest there. He **did** have similar experiences before, now that he thought about it. Many a times had it happened to him that he suddenly had the distinct feeling that something (usually a pretty bad thing) was going to happen, and he always got out of there before it could go down. He had escaped guards trying to catch him during stealing, traps laid by members of the Thieves Guild, and quite a few lethal blows from monsters of all kinds during his travels with Johanna. He had even used to be able tell Edlin when exactly he should strike with his squad on the Thieves Guild back in Kingsport, as if he had known the exact time table of the heists. And even though these instances had been more like feelings than actual visions or dreams, they were still pretty goddamn accurate.

There was a… weirdly large number of examples Lyndon could recall.

So what? Was he a mystic like Myriam? No, that could not have been it. Myriam always predicted the future of **others**. Lyndon only ever saw his own. Still… he couldn't deny the fact that he **did** see or at least feel his own fate, now that he had given enough thought to it.

This was… _disturbing_.

Lyndon felt his blood freeze, yet at the same time sweat trickling down on the back of his neck. _What_ was he?! The idea of being able to see the future, even if only his own, scared him beyond belief.

He should have been ecstatic about the news. As a child (just like everyone else basically), he often dreamt about having incredible powers and swooping in to amaze everyone. He had joked about hoping to have "some Nephalem blood in himself", when he and Johanna were discovering the shifting Ruins of Corvus. But those were just those: daydreams and jokes.

And yet… and yet, this discovery disturbed him to his very core, as if he had just realized he had a third arm hidden somewhere inside his body. He was **different**. He apparently held a power that would have freaked out others, or alienated them, or… or…

And there it came crushing down. The guilt.

Why didn't he use this apparent ability to save his brother from being imprisoned? His and Edlin's life had been inseparably intertwined. Surely, if Lyndon had paid just a bit more attention to his sixth sense, he probably could have predicted and maybe even stopped his brother from showing up too early to the scene, and… and none of this would have happened. Not the prison, not the transfer to Westmarch, not _Rea_.

He could have helped Edlin. Dear god, he could have **saved** Edlin…

Lyndon hid his face into his hands in shame. Only he could be such an ignorant, tunnel-visioned, idiotic, thick-skulled fool to—

\- Everything's alright? – came the gruff voice of the farmer, tearing the string of thoughts apart.

\- Wha—what? – Lyndon snapped his head up, rubbing his eyes furiously to hide the treacherous tears trying to escape.

\- You look like you are ready to deck yourself in the face for something – the old man pointed out simply. – Everything's alright?

-… No. No, by the gods, it isn't – Lyndon choked, suddenly losing the ability to just shut the hell up. – I could have saved someone… I have just realized, I—

The old man petted him on the shoulder with a loud sigh.

\- "Should have been"-s are nice, kid – he mumbled. – But they ain't worth a thing. It's not like you can go back and change it. All you can do is learn from it and move forward.

 ** _You_** _should know_ , Lyndon thought venomously, but finally managed to clamp his mouth shut.

\- I don't wanna tell you your business, kid – the farmer went on. – But that's the sad truth. We ain't got no other direction to go, but _forward_. I've learnt that in as well. Not an easy lesson, but we've gotta face it sooner or later.

 _Shut the fuck up!_ Lyndon wanted to scream. _You don't know_ _ **jackshit**_ _about what is going on with me!_

The old man snorted under his wide straw hat:

\- Send me however many deadly glares you want, kid. You'll soon learn, trust me. Besides – here, he gestured forward, beyond the wide back of the packbeast –, we are nearing Gea Kul. You only have to put up with this old fool for a short while.

Lyndon turned away with an angry snarl, eyes defiantly kept on the horizon to their right. A part of him knew his resentment at the old man, who only wanted to help him in some way, simply came from his sudden and quite strong self-hate. Unfortunately, this knowledge didn't mean he could act more reasonably.

He really **was** a total failure, wasn't he?

oooOOOooo

Quiet stayed inside the backpack, next to Leendonn's pouch of monee and that large rectangular thing that had an ugly monster head on its front for some reason. It gave him the creeps whenever he looked at it, and got the distinct feeling that he had seen it somewhere before.

Many times, even.

Still, not even that horrible face could keep him from drifting in and out of his dreams. He was exhausted, his last demand from the world left him drained both physically and mentally. His mind was still reeling from just how close Leendonn actually got to dying.

He decided adamantly that will **not** come to pass, _ever_.

Time passed weirdly inside the bag, made even more confusing by his constant dozing off. Quiet suspected a lot of time had passed since last night. His senses that had been incredibly sharp during the attack, toned down back to normal again. This made him sad, mostly because that feeling had been quite exhilarating in a way, and he wished he could stay in that state for longer.

Most of his dozes were uneventful at least, although Quiet sometimes saw fractions of pictures he couldn't place. He saw a mountain, a place of light and gold, a seemingly endless meadow (quite like the one they were passing through now), some strange frozen flames, ugly monsters and fellow angels looking up to him like he was their leader, a sword that had a blue light in the center of it, then a spear that seemed to be blazing, a troubled angel in greyish green robes hunched over a glowing piece of paper, a rough-looking man locking eyes with him…

Leendonn's voice dragged him out of this growing madness, and Quiet was grateful for that.

He and the old man operating this strange device, that was currently taking them to a place, were talking. Once again, Quiet had no idea what the words actually meant, but the sheer emotions grabbed his attention. The old man sounded sad and jaded, but Leendonn sounded straight up **devastated**. His quivering voice was on the brink of breaking from all the pent-up tension. Quiet promptly considered climbing out of the bag and ambushing the old man from behind, for daring to hurt Leendonn somehow, but he quickly thought against it. Leendonn fought well, he probably would have attacked the other huumann himself already, had he been in danger.

The old man said something and Leendonn snarled angrily. They were probably having an argument then.

Quiet remembered having a lot of arguments with… uhm… whom? An angel? No, wait… at least five angels, yes. Or… was it only three? Two of the five (the guy with the greyish green robes and a girl in copper armor) never really bothered him about… about what?

Quiet wanted to scream in frustration at his incomplete memory. He was such a goddamn failure, not being able to remember **anything**! That was _it_ , he angrily thought to himself. He would not rest he knew what the hell was going on exactly!

* * *

 **Wow, really nobody's having a good day in this one. Guess it's a typical Diablo-setup then, huh? XD**


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 6_**

Lyndon somehow felt a twisted kinship with the absolute mess that was Gea Kul.

The once small but lovely little port got hit with the "urban sprawl" around the 1260s and it ended up being a borderline labyrinth with run-down houses and impossible-to-keep-track-of intersections. Even Lyndon would have gotten hopelessly lost here, had the helpful farmer not give him directions to the harbor. The city seemingly lacked any sort of structure, there was no center recognizable at first glance, or different districts and neighborhoods. Pretty much every house looked like it could hold either a poor family of 7 inside, or a band of thugs. The scoundrel found it safer to just rush into the port the fastest possible, especially with Quiet out in the open.

Once Lyndon bid a somewhat still angry, somewhat apologetic farewell to the old farmer and walked a couple of blocks into the city, Quiet decided he had had enough of being quiet. With an angry shriek he began clawing his way out of the backpack, Lyndon could barely catch him midair before he could have smacked into the ground. The scoundrel really didn't have the patience for the small angel right about now, but the little one adamantly refused going back inside the bag, so much so that Lyndon couldn't even lift him off the ground for some reason.

So here they were now, walking down on a street that was supposed to be the main one of the city, Lyndon holding the small hand and Quiet tilting his head left and right constantly, red eyes checking out everything around them. He didn't try to run off or flutter his wings (yet) at least, and Lyndon soon realized he didn't really have to worry about the angel's lack of face, either. The locals appeared to be completely indifferent towards them, so much so that Lyndon sometimes had to yank Quiet of the way of a pedestrian or even a cart that refused to acknowledge the small form in their way and just kept on going in a straight line.

Clearly, the glory days of Gea Kul were over.

A part of Lyndon was grateful for the distraction that came with having to look out for Quiet more actively. Without this, he would have already gone nuts, mulling over his predicament and guilt, and drawing even dumber parallels between the state of the city and himself than he already has.

\- Quiet, don't touch that! – he pulled the small angel back from a nearby bijou-vendor's counter, as they passed into the jewelry street market.

He could tell at a single glance that every piece of jewelry there was fake, but of course Quiet would be mesmerized by their shiny appearance. The scoundrel always had a suspicion that angels were like magpies and now he seemed to getting confirmation. Why else would they build their Silver City in a way that even the goddamn trees had their own light? In fact… in fact yeah, that **had** to be it! Even Itherael walked around with a glowing scroll instead of normal everyday paper.

\- Next time Imperius is a jerk, I will just dangle a sparkly necklace before his eyes to shut him up – Lyndon snickered to himself slightly, picturing the scene. – I've **got** to try it out with Tyrael, too!

Maybe they should have just scattered shiny stuff and golden dimes around the room when they faced Malthael. Gods know how easy the fight would have been then…

Quiet's happy chirp knocked him out of his train of thoughts and Lyndon threw himself after the little angel who was in the middle of hugging a stunned street merchant (probably from Caldeum) who wore a bit too many accessories, gems and jewels on his robes and turban.

oooOOOooo

After deciding that he **would** regain his memories one way or another, a strange sense of eagerness settled in Quiet and he realized he couldn't stay inside the bag any longer. Allowing his demand to be heard clearly, he climbed his way out of there, only for the ground, that was faaaar deeper down than he thought, to suddenly lurch towards him.

Thankfully, Leendonn grabbed him before he could faceplant into the mud, and then gently set him down on his feet. He gestured angrily at the backpack and said something that sounded like an order. In return, Quiet puffed up his cheeks and shrieked angrily, shaking his head. Leendonn reached for him, and Quiet asked that the earth does not let go of him. Winning this brief clash of individuals, the small angel clicked his tongue contently, as he slipped his small hand into the large palm of Leendonn and allowed himself to be guided in this place.

He didn't really pay attention to where they were going, instead he soaked in everything he saw, hoping that something would jog his memory. There were a **lot** of huumanns, along with their machines and animals that carried stuff for them. He saw huumanns with clothes just like his or Leendonn's, and others who tended to have long hair and long robes that did not reveal their legs at all. Small huumans surfaced in the crowd occasionally as well, most of them larger than Quiet, but a few around his size, guided by those long haired huumans, much like Leendonn did with him. Were they friends as well, just like Quiet and Leendonn? Probably this is how friends did around these parts.

The buildings weren't really inviting, they were mostly the ugly shades of brown, grey or green. Quiet got the distinct feeling that they should be white and gold, sparkling in the sun.

Oh, but something definitely sparkled over there! Quiet happily tried to walk up there, to inspect what beauty held that radiant aura, only for Leendonn to yank him backwards. Quiet puffed up his cheeks again but refrained from giving voice to his annoyance, due to the many huumanns around. His bad mood quickly evaporated, though, as more and more shiny stuff surfaced around them. He wanted to check every single one of them out, but Leendonn held him firmly this time.

At first Quiet thought the strange pleasant tingling that filled his body was due to his excitement over all this sudden beauty, but in all honesty, it had started when they began walking down this street in that place with the ugly houses. Quiet didn't exactly know where it came from or why, but he felt alert, energized like he hadn't before. He was so happy, he completely forgot about his incomplete memory and lack of name. He just wanted to bounce around, sing about his joy with a clear voice, and show everyone just how joyous and grateful he was for this day.

At some point, Leendonn's grip loosened for some reason, and Quiet immediately broke away. His eyes got caught on a fat huumann that was even shinier than everything else so far, so Quiet bounced there and hugged him, chirping about his happiness to the man.

Leendonn quickly peeled him off of the huumann, but by this point Quiet was so overjoyed he didn't even care. Leendonn pulled him into a tight hug, and the little angel returned the gesture, humming loudly about his emotions to his great friend.

oooOOOooo

Quiet had gone nuts. Lyndon could barely keep a hold of the little angel who clearly grew more and more energetic by the minute. He had to press him close to his chest and use one arm to stop his wings from flaring out from under the cape. Quiet thought he was being hugged and he returned it, humming happily, face buried in his shirt.

Honestly, despite the restlessness of the angel, it was such a sweet gesture, one that Lyndon wasn't really used to. Quiet was positively and steadily growing warmer, and his sudden good mood affected the scoundrel as well. He actually felt himself somewhat lighter, not as plagued by his own dark thoughts as before.

He remembered how his niece and nephew, Maya and Eric had always had similar effects on him. When Edlin was still fine, Lyndon rarely got a chance to visit them low-key. The four-year old Maya and the two-year-old Eric were the sweetest children ever, and they were always so happy to see their uncle, even when Lyndon couldn't bring them anything. Oh, all the carefree hours they spent together playing, Lyndon teaching the kids how to climb pretty much any surface! Ha, Rea was so angry with him for those—

 _Rea._

Lyndon visibly shuddered, as his joyful memories shattered like thin glass from the image of the woman. He felt his mouth dry out and his hold grow tighter around the humming Quiet.

 _Why?_ That was all he wanted to know. Why did she do it?! Edlin had loved her with every fiber of his being! He did **everything** to make sure she and the children had a comfortable life.

Lyndon realized the humming stopped. Looking down, he saw Quiet staring up at him with wide eyes full of worry and confusion.

\- Leendonn – he chirped uncertainly, obviously searching for the right words. – Whe—whyyyy saaad?

\- It's… nothing, Quiet, don't worry about it – the scoundrel tried to sound reassuring, pushing back the dark thoughts again.

His charge didn't really seem convinced, but he snuggled back into the hug, and began humming again, this time sounding more calming than happy.

Lyndon sighed as he picked up the pace again, wading across the seemingly endless crowd towards the port, silently grateful for his companion.

oooOOOooo

The harbor was like every other all across Sanctuary: chaotic, loud, reeking of fish, and full of greedy sailors who always looked out for opportunities to make some extra cash.

A fact Lyndon thought to be completely true up until this point, as he stood before the captain of the _Albatross_.

\- 'Eyyyyy, mate, I dunnoo – the large, bearded, sleazy man grumbled, fidgeting his only remaining golden button on his worn-out blue coat. – Word from higher ups says we must wait.

\- For what? What's so important?! – Lyndon hissed angrily, quickly losing his patience.

Strangely enough, his usual sum of bribe money, with which he had been able to pay down every sailor up to this point in his life, failed to persuade this captain to change his plans.

\- Ya haven't heard? – the man looked at him.

\- No, I was mostly on the road these past days – Lyndon grumbled angrily.

\- S'mething's **bad** going down in Kingsport – the captain explained. – Really **freaking** bad. Word was sent out for the Hero of Sanctuary. The _Albatross_ hafta wait for her arrival.

Lyndon actually felt his face lose a couple of tones at this. His grip unconsciously tightened on the strip of the backpack in which Quiet was now hiding once more.

Ooooh no. Dear gods, no.

\- Listen, I **need** to get to Kingsport as fast as possible. I cannot wait for her! – he hissed desperately.

\- Cannot help ya, mate – the captain shrugged.

\- Then tell me, how **else** I can get to Kingsport, if not on your stupid ship!

\- 'Ey! The _Albatross_ is a mighty fine ship! She braved storms that would make demons quiver in fear – the captain barked angrily.

\- I don't give a fuck about what she's been through! – Lyndon cried out, angrily thrusting the smaller money bag back into his pocket. – Listen here, _mate_ , I need to find a way! You have to help me out here!

The captain sucked in a long breath, deep sparkly eyes seizing up the scoundrel.

\- Please! – Lyndon pleaded.

-… Y'know how to sail?

\- No.

\- Damnit – the captain grumbled. – I'd have suggested ya take a boat yerself.

Lyndon resisted the urge to kick the guy in the shins for this. Did he honestly believe they would be having this conversation if the scoundrel knew how to sail a boat?! That would have been his first action upon hearing about Johanna, to jump straight into one and just go for it!

-… Arright – the captain suddenly leaned closer and lowered his voice, his ale-filled breath sweeping over the other. – I can only offer one advice, and that's risky as sin, boy.

\- Yeah? – Lyndon choked, trying not to lean backwards.

\- Ya ever heard of a man called Meshif Salavan?

\- No.

\- Ayy, a strange one, he is. Not really working up 'ere, y'know – the captain went on, poking his own temple with one finger. – Ain't no one wants to deal with him… only the desperate. But he's a true man of the sea, knows things nobody else does. He could get you to Kingsport… probably.

Lyndon wanted to laugh into the man's face then turn right around on his heels and go on his merry way. He had dealt with more than enough mortal, angelic and demonic madmen throughout his adventures with Johanna, and he was really goddamn fed up with them at this point. On the other hand, Johanna was coming here, and gods knew how far or close she actually was. The _Albatross_ was the only ship leaving port right now (probably due to whatever was going on in Kingsport), meaning that Lyndon was currently in a dead end, with the exit behind him rapidly closing.

-… Where do I find him? – the scoundrel asked, finally relenting to his fate.

He was a gambler in some ways, after all.

* * *

 _ **ANGELS ARE DIVINE MAJESTIC AS FUCK MAGPIES, I'M CALLING IT NOW!**_ **And yes, it is canon for this fanfiction! Sue me!  
Srsly, tho, this stupid-ass idea popped into my head and I just HAD to include it. The amount of stupid shit I will be able to do with this is amazing! :D**

 **Fun fact for those who didn't play Diablo2 or don't remember it (you guys have no idea how lucky you are): Meshif is the sailor who transports your useless ass from Act II Lut Gholein to Act III Kurast, aaaand... that's pretty much it. Also he throws a dumbass figurine at your face halfway through some boring quest. He is yet another cardboard cut-out worthless nobody, just like literally everyone else in Diablo 2, and yes, I very much include the hero character, Tyrael and all of the big bad Evils. Fight me.**  
 **The "Salavan" last name is my making.**


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter 7_**

Flying figurines were quickly becoming officially the leading entry on Lyndon's to-hate list, currently even above the "Mortal and Immortal Maniacs Who Want to Rule/Destroy Everything for Some Godforsaken Reason" entry.

The visit to the captain hadn't been a complete failure afterall: Lyndon had managed to bribe him to delay the departure of the _Albatross_ by half a day once Johanna arrives, whenever that may be. After that deal was struck, the scoundrel set out towards a dark and mostly abandoned part of the harbor, following the captain's directions.

Supposedly, this Meshif Salavan lived here somewhere, in a house that was surrounded by jade figurines, but as Lyndon walked among the run-down fishing and pearl-diver cottages, he began to feel like he was in a very dangerous part of town. Did the captain trick him and send him into the open arms of thugs? Lyndon could hope that if it comes down to a fight, his sixth sense or foresight or whatever the hell it actually was, would not fail him.

Quiet whimpered, small head sticking out of the backpack. Thankfully he had calmed down mostly, but now he was clearly picking up on the foreboding air around here.

\- It's alright – Lyndon mumbled half-heartedly. – If all else fails, we can make a run for it.

\- Arrrrrriyttt?

\- Alright.

Quiet whimpered again, clearly not convinced. Lyndon couldn't blame him.

The harbor was mostly silent here, everything was dominated by the stench of dead fish, heavier than before. Lyndon occasionally saw glimpses of other figures, perhaps faces in the surroundings: peering out of, and among the cottages, swooping by between cracks. The scoundrel really didn't like it, but he acted like he hadn't noticed anything and kept on going forward, trying to look as confident as physically possible. Where was that goddamn hut with the figurines?!

Quiet screamed in alarm just as Lyndon's sixth sense flared up, and the scoundrel dove to the side, just barely avoiding an axe coming down on his back. He skidded on the muddy ground, twisting around to see his attacker. Behind him stood a crazed-looking man with incredibly sharp green eyes, wearing just a loin cloth, hands clutching a battle axe so hard it was a miracle the handle hadn't snapped yet. He had darker skin, but there was something odd about it. Lyndon had to chalk that up to the dimming twilight, having no time to ponder on it more as the man charged again. Blinding powder filled the air, but somehow the guy remained unfazed by it and Lyndon again had to throw himself out of the way, rolling on his side. He felt Quiet hanging onto the strips of the backpack for dear life, but wisely remaining silent.

The attacker swung the axe in a wide ark and Lyndon jumped back, pulling out his dagger.

\- I want no trouble! – he shouted. – Let us talk! I'm just looking for a man named—

 _*THUDD!*_

The head of the axe implanted into the mud on the spot where the scoundrel stood a moment ago. Lyndon retreated, cursing colorfully. He had to shake this idiot off and find another way—

His sixth sense interrupted him again and he jumped to the side, twisting his whole body in mid-air like a cat, his torso avoiding a knife by a hair's length. There was someone else behind him somewhere, hidden in the shadows. In fact, Lyndon could dimly register more and more movement around him.

Oh god, they were a mob.

Realizing he had no other choice really, he lunged towards the axe guy. Masterfully avoiding the next swing, he brandished his dagger and sunk it into the unprotected neck of his opponent.

Only for the skin to break into shards.

Lyndon stumbled forward in surprise at the sight, knocking the man to the ground. Without uttering a sound, the body shattered into smithereens, and Lyndon realized his skin had had a ceramic light to it.

\- What the f—? – he tried to say, only for Quiet's angry shout to drown out his voice.

Wiping his head in the other direction, he just barely caught a glimpse of a knife sailing at his head, before the weapon turned into a daisy. The flower harmlessly brushed against his forehead then tumbled to the ground where it quickly wilted.

Lyndon realized he had to turn off his brain now and go full battle mode. Letting out another stream of curses, he threw himself into the shadows of the cottages and hunted down the guy with the throwing knives. As it quickly turned out, Quiet did not only turn the thrown weapon into a flower, but his entire collection as well. This attacker too had that weird ceramic skin, green eyes and absolute lack of a voice even when Lyndon kicked his head clean off of his neck. The supposed head shattered against the wall and the body tumbled to the ground, following its example. Not a drop of blood anywhere. Lyndon did not stop to ask questions this time, though.

Run-down harbor village inhabited by bloodthirsty pottery. Roll with it.

There were more attackers than those two, but now that Lyndon managed to withstand the temptation to stop and just go "WTF", he and Quiet made relatively quick work of them. The men had a large variety of weapons, from longswords to straightened-out scythes, but they moved pretty clumsily, their attacking patterns were easy to read, and over all, they were **nothing** compared to what Lyndon had lived through by Johanna's side. If the scoundrel's attention slipped or he didn't see an attack coming, Quiet would take care of that with a burst of his strange power, making the earth wall off an attack, have the weapon suddenly change trajectory or even density, or just have it shatter mid-swing.

Lyndon stopped himself from questioning that as well.

A half an hour of flashing weapons, cracking ceramic and angry angel battlecries later Lyndon stood in the middle of a street, surrounded by shards from all sides. He heaved as he looked around, but it appeared they were safe now. With a deep breath, he sheathed his dagger into his belt.

\- You alright there, Quiet? – he called over his shoulder, hearing the soft breathing from the bag.

\- Arrriyt, ah—arriyt – Quiet panted, clearly spent.

The shards twitched around them, causing Lyndon to make a run for it, trying to scramble out of the center.

\- Aw, come on! – he shouted angrily, grabbing after his dagger once more.

The smithereens lifted from the ground and began forming a twister, rearranging themselves into many small, like 30 cm tall… figurines.

\- _Good! Good!_ – a voice cried out, seemingly coming from the shard-storm. – _The Eye has a decent guardian. That is good!_

\- Who's talking?! Are you a demon? – Lyndon thrusted his dagger forward, not exactly sure what good it could do against the phenomenon but trying to sound tough nonetheless.

\- _A demon?! Ha! Never!_ – the voice snorted. – _Just follow the figurines. They will show the way._

\- I am warning you, I have faced two Lesser Evils and the Angel of Death itself before. If this is a trick—!

\- _You will call upon the help of the very Nephalem hero you are trying to escape from now?_

Lyndon fell silent at this, staring at the hovering figurines with a deadly glare. Taking his lack of response as a yes, the figurines began drifting in one direction, beckoning the scoundrel to follow, which he did grumpily. He wished he didn't turn his brain back on. The million angry questions buzzing in there threatened to make his skull split open. Whatever the hell was going on, he didn't like it one bit.

The figurines shown the way to a small hut, just like every other one around here. The only difference was the seven small jade statues that stood as guardians on either side of the entrance. Lyndon took one deep breath and stepped forward, reaching for the handle. The door flew open before he could touch it, though, and on the doorstep stood a ridiculously old, wrinkled and small man. His eyes sparkled with a kind of clear madness, they were just as green as those of the ceramic warriors, but his skin was clearly normal human skin. He posed in a simple shirt and trousers, worn-out by the ages. His bald head reflected the light coming from inside the cottage.

Lyndon rested his own hand on the handle of the dagger in his belt, as obviously as possible. The old man, who somehow still held a straight and heroic posture, broke out in a nigh-toothless grin, as he waved the ceramic figures away with one hand.

\- So, would you like some tea?

oooOOOooo

Lyndon was beginning to wish he had just jumped into a boat upon hearing from Johanna, and just go for it.

The inside of the cottage was a single room, inhabited mostly by flying figurines of all materials. Most of them flew in random patterns like drunken hornets, but a few had specific tasks. Two for example held the handle of a wooden spoon between themselves and stirred a pot that boiled over a small fire in the middle of the house. There were nearly no furniture at all, besides all the shelves on the walls where the figurines settled to down to rest for a minute before taking off again. Around the fire, two furs were spread on the ground opposite of each other.

Lyndon had to duck several times from an incoming statue as he angrily made his way towards the fireplace. His sixth sense was invaluable now: it was impossible to foretell the trajectory of the figurines otherwise. The old man clearly kept one eye on his evading attempts. He was completely safe, of course, the statues didn't even come close to him, as he sat down on one fur and began filling two cups full of some kind of leaves with the boiling water.

\- Meshif Salavan, I presume – Lyndon spat, annoyed as he too managed to reach his seat without getting smacked over the head. He gathered his backpack into his lap.

\- The one and only – the old man nodded before breaking out in a chuckle. – That is such a funny human saying! We've always wanted to say that.

\- "We"?

\- We, of course. There are more of us, afterall – Meshif nodded happily and with the outmost sincerity.

Lyndon sucked in his breath and uncertainly took the offered cup of tea.

\- What do you want? – he asked.

\- We are the ones asking that question from **you** – Meshif waved dismissively. – We saw you actively seeking us out, bearing the Eye, no less! We have a lot of questions.

\- Bearing the _what_ now? – Lyndon blinked.

Meshif threw his head back and let out a rolling laughter:

\- A master thief and you don't even know the value you are carrying! – he said, pointing at the backpack. – Come on out, Eye! You have nothing to fear us.

Quiet timidly poked his head out, exhaustion and confusion shone in his red eyes.

\- Ahhh there you are! – Meshif grinned at him widely, causing Lyndon to wrap one arm around the bag defensively. – You are smaller than we remember.

\- You stay the hell away from him, whatever you are! – Lyndon snarled at the old man.

\- Fear not, fear not! We are of him, after all. Why would we attack our own Creator?

\- What are you on about, seriously?!

\- Oh dear, oh dear, we must hurry! – Meshif suddenly lost his grin and he downed the still boiling cup of water in a single swing. – No matter, our questions must wait. She is close and we must hurry!

-… You mean Johanna?

\- Ah, that is her name now, is it not? – Meshif said, deep in thought.

\- It has always been her name, what are you—?! – Lyndon tried to ask but was quickly silenced by the other.

\- We must hurry and get you to the Nest of Wrath before she arrives there!

\- What?! No, I want to get to **Kingsport** , not—not whatever you've just said.

Meshif sent a disapproving glance at his lost guest.

\- Names change, young man! Always! Look at the Eye! What do you call him now? Quiet? That was not his name before.

Lyndon wanted to argue, but the old man held up a hand.

\- You call that town Kingsport now, but that is just another human name that will change – he went on. – Besides, it is a bad name now, it doesn't tell what the place really is. Nest of Wrath, I say!

Lyndon jumped on his feet, grabbed Meshif by the collar and easily lifted him off the ground as if he weighted nothing, angrily boring his own eyes into the green ones.

\- You had better start making some goddamn sense before I cut your throat, Meshif, or whoever the hell you truly are! – he growled. – I have no time for games or riddles, you understand?!

\- Yet you stand here, bickering with us, instead of accepting our help – the old man pointed out, grinning again.

\- How do I know you are not just a crazed demon, trying to lead me into a trap?! You have already attacked me with your puppets!

\- Oh, that was just a test, to see if the Eye really was in good hands or not – Meshif waved. – You are decent. Still need some practice, though. The foresight is blooming, but the rest has yet to show. You are doing well right now, by the way. Congratulations!

Lyndon realized he was actually holding another human being up in the air for minutes by now, with only one hand. His arm suddenly buckled and he set the old man roughly down the ground.

\- How? – Lyndon hiccupped, absolutely bewildered.

Sure, the old man was smaller than him, but he was still a good 50-60 kilos, probably. Lyndon was never good at lifting such weights, let alone with one hand!

\- Oh dear, shouldn't have said a thing – Meshif sighed then began arguing with himself. – See, I told you, guys! We should have stayed silent! Now we knocked him out of the course, see?! What—no! He needs to know. Clearly, he needs hints! Look at him, he is completely clueless—They all bloomed best when left in the dark! It builds character—You are not making any sense, seriously—

\- MESHIF! – Lyndon shouted angrily.

He had questions. Goddamnit, he had so many questions he felt his skull would split any minute! But he realized he couldn't ask, at least not now. This—these things were needed to be focused on the problem at hand, questions would only raise the already big chaos.

\- Johanna is close, remember?! – he snarled angrily. – Get your shit together!

\- Oh right, she—she is close! – Meshif shook his head, knocked out of the inner argument. – Kid speaks reason, you see, guys?!

\- How do we get to Kingsport? – Lyndon asked, hauling his backpack onto his shoulders. – Or Hive of Anger, or whatever the hell you are calling it, I don't care!

\- Hive of Anger is good too! – Meshif exclaimed happily. – The ship she will choose to sail with is very fast, and your half a day head-start won't help, if we go by boat.

\- How did you—?

\- That is why we will use a non-traditional method! Come, come! – Meshif ran out of the house, the seven jade figurines lifting off and going after him.

Lyndon could barely keep up with him.

\- Arrriyt? – Quiet chirped uncertainly on his back.

\- I am not so sure about that anymore, Quiet – Lyndon grumbled angrily.

oooOOOooo

The old man was a surprisingly fast sprinter, the scoundrel really needed to step it up to keep up with him. The seven jade statues followed them around without trouble. A part of Lyndon tried to picture what kind of sight this convoy made, if there was anyone around.

\- Where is everyone? – he panted, realizing that the village was truly empty.

\- Oh, we scared them off when we saw you coming – Meshif called over his shoulder, not even sounding out of breath. – You needed the space to fight. But beware, in the future you will not have this luxury. Be careful where you swing that dagger, alright?

\- You just keep your lecturing to yourself—yourselves—whatever! – Lyndon spat. – Where the hell are you even taking me?

Instead of answering, Meshif stopped abruptly, causing the scoundrel to nearly bump into him. Before them was the edge of the docks, under the wooden planks the Twin Seas waved gently. The endless water surface before them sparkled in the moonlight. The white light, combined with the bottomless darkness gave a sight that was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Had it not been for the sound of waves breaking on the planks and the wooden pillars, Lyndon would have thought they were standing on the very edge of the world.

\- It is time to move on – Meshif announced, then he promptly collapsed onto the floor.

The seven statues zoomed over his head and plunged head-first into the sea, by the time Lyndon shouted in alarm. The scoundrel crouched down besides the old man and rolled him on his back, trying to shake him awake. There was no reaction, so Lyndon pressed his ear against the chest. There was no heartbeat. Sucking in his breath, the scoundrel slowly drew away from the unmoving form and sat down onto the planks, staring before himself emptily.

He felt Quiet climbing out of the bag and scuttling to Meshif as well. The little angel placed his hands onto the chest.

\- Leendonn? – he turned to Lyndon, unsure of what just happened.

\- He is dead, Quiet – the scoundrel said softly.

\- Dedd?

\- Dead. Not waking up again. Not coming back.

Quiet turned back to Meshif, looking at his face. He seemed peaceful, as if content with what he had achieved. Lyndon closed the eyes of the corpse with two fingers and uttered a half-hearted prayer for this poor bastard's soul.

\- I just don't know what to do now – he then sighed heavily, boring his eyes into the endless blackness of the sea. – Where to now?

Quiet climbed into his lap, and pointed at the moon.

\- Wat dat? – he chirped.

\- That is the moon.

\- Pretty.

\- Yes, it is – Lyndon smiled sadly. – It shines at night. Just like the sun shines during the day.

\- Liyt gud – Quiet nodded, staring at the moon.

\- Yes, light is very good. We can see in the light, we know where we must go – Lyndon patted his head gently. – Unlike now… I do not know what we are going to do, Quiet. We got dumped, big time.

Quiet glanced at Meshif on their left again, then buried himself into the hug.

\- Dis niyt no gud – he mumbled.

\- No… it is not – Lyndon agreed solemnly.

He thought about walking back to the port and just steal a boat. Hoping for the best, they might be able to make it across. He stared at the water in a kind of trance. The waves were barely visible in the moonlight, but they were there, reminding the scoundrel that he wasn't just staring into an abyss. He believed he had seen true nothing when they journeyed across Pandemonium, but that desolate place paled in comparison to this. At least there were the bubbles to break the monotony of the waves.

Wait.

 **Bubbles?!**

The sea suddenly churned violently, causing Lyndon and Quiet to fall on their backs in alarm, holding onto each other for dear life.

A giant shape burst from the darkness, the moonlight stroking its scales. With a strange distant, almost song-like call it crashed back into the sea, washing the two startled onlookers with gallons of salty water. Shaking the stinking liquid out of his eyes, Lyndon squinted, while simultaneously crushing Quiet to himself. After minutes of staring and blinking to vanquish the irritating water from his eyes, Lyndon thought he finally understood what he was seeing, sort of.

It was a sea monster.

An actual sea monster, with a long and wide finned back, scales as large as cartwheels and as sparkling as minerals, floated patiently before them.

\- _Are you coming or what?_ – it suddenly called out, and seven small green shapes appeared in mid-air, dancing over what appeared to be the head of the monster.

\- Wat **dat**?! – Quiet asked hysterically, flailing towards the creature with his arms.

\- _Why, your ride to the Nest of Wrath, Eye! Hop on!_

* * *

 **Y'know, considering what an ARMY of cardboard cutout characters Diablo2 had (no wonder, considering that there was NO STORY DURING DEVELOPMENT!), it is kind of fitting that in the end I chose a vessel/puppet role for good old Meshif here.**

 **Anyway, WTF-moments, full swing. I couldn't help it. Sanctuary is the capital of WTF-moments, if the Adventure mode had taught me anything. So just lean back and enjoy the madness! I know that I do! ;) Despite this apparent idiocy, I did enjoy writing this chapter very much. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Cruising is fun, guys!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 8_**

Fact of the day: ramming am actual sea monster into an actual ship wasn't half as much fun as it initially sounds like.

Lyndon committed the mistake of hoping that this trip would go smoothly. It looked like it, though: the Twin Seas were calm (although slightly horrifying with its bottomless darkness and moonlit waves), there was no cloud on the horizon that would signal a storm, the sea monster was completely okay with having passengers on its scaly back, and Quiet was sleeping peacefully on the scoundrel's lap. Lyndon wished he could join the angel in this activity, but first he was determined to strangle some answers out of these seven jade figurines that were somehow possessing the beast.

Unfortunately, the statues had similar ideas too.

\- We have questions! – they announced in Lyndon's head.

\- So do I. A lot of them! – he retorted.

\- That doesn't matter. Our questions are more important.

\- Hell no! **I'm** the guy who is risking his life to keep Quiet out of the hands of the Nephalem hero! I **need** those answers to survive somehow!

\- Bah, you clearly wouldn't know how to use the information.

\- Are you saying I'm stupid?!

\- Clearly, if you haven't consulted that insane amount of knowledge you have at your disposal… – grumbled one of the figurines in a flat tone.

Insane amount of knowledge? Oh… Oh, Cain's book! _Crap_!

Dragging a giant tome out of a dripping wet backpack with panicked hurry, while simultaneously making sure Quiet didn't wake up, wasn't the easiest thing to do in the world, but eventually Lyndon was successful.

Only to find the codex completely fine and dry as desert sand.

\- What the—? – the scoundrel gawked.

\- Ahhhh… protecting magic woven into the cover of the book. Very clever – the statues hummed. – The author wanted it to last, clearly.

\- Cain, you genius bastard, you – Lyndon exhaled loudly, greatly relieved that he wasn't responsible for wrecking just the most important collection of writings in the whole world.

\- Insane amount of knowledge. We told you so – the figurines snickered.

\- I admit I forgot about it, but how the hell am I to find anything in it, if I don't know what to look for?! – Lyndon glared at them. – Do you have any idea how **many** things are in this?!

\- Reading is good for you!

\- If I had the time! – Lyndon snarled, before taking a deep breath. – Look, this doesn't get us anywhere! How about I ask a question, you answer it, then you ask one and I answer it. Sounds good?

-… Yup – the statues finally agreed.

\- Alright… First of all, **what** are you? – Lyndon exhaled loudly.

\- We are the Seven! – the figurines proclaimed proudly. – We were created by the Eye and the Allfather, to protect and observe. At first, we were to keep watch over the Eye, but then… **stuff** happened. Lots of stuff.

\- What are the—?

\- A-a-aaa, our turn!

\- Right. Sorry – Lyndon scratched his head.

\- How did you find **him**? – one of the statues nodded in the direction of the sleeping Quiet.

\- In the Realm of Hatred, during our raid there. We were looking for Mephisto but never found him. I stumbled upon this room of mirrors and him in the middle – Lyndon looked down at his charge. – He was **much** bigger than this, but he… blew up? Or changed shape? Hard to tell.

\- Interestinnngggg – mumbled the statues.

\- Right. So. Why do you keep calling him Eye?

\- Because he **is** the Eye, of course!

\- Yes, but what is the—?

\- Our turn! – shrieked the figurines.

Lyndon had to bite down on a curse.

\- Why do you run from the Nephalem? – one of the statues asked.

-… – Lyndon had to take a deep breath, before being able to answer. – She had been a great friend in the past… but something changed in her. She is different now, and not for the best. I… was told that I must keep Quiet away from her… whatever the reason may be.

\- Sometimes it's better not to know the reason, for your own safety.

\- Bullshit – the scoundrel snorted angrily. – How up to date you are in a situation can be a matter of life and death. I sure as hell know this.

\- Rrright.

\- My turn. What is the Eye?

Silence. Lyndon frowned, getting the distinct feeling that the statues no longer paid attention to him.

\- Hey! I asked a quest—!

\- Your captain played you for a fool – one of the figurines interrupted him.

\- What?! – Lyndon whipped his head around.

In the dead of the night his vision failed him, but eventually he spotted distant lights dancing over the water, lights that there were **definitely** not from the moon.

\- Is that—?!

\- The _Albatross_ clearly didn't wait half a day, like its captain had promised – the statues grumbled. – The rat has no honor.

\- Are you sure it's that ship?!

\- Yes. We sense a great power on board.

\- You mean Johanna.

\- Aye, she is there. With everyone else – the figurines spoke, dead serious this time.

\- Can't this monster swim any faster? – Lyndon stared down at the scaly back in growing fear.

\- Not much, no. Whatever lead we might be able to gain won't be enough. We will need to land far away from Kingsport not to raise attention, while she will sail right into the docks. You need to beat Johanna to Kingsport with much more time, if you wish to evade her effectively.

Lyndon wanted to pull out his hair in frustration.

\- Alright, Seven! Now what?! – he barked angrily, stuffing Cain's book back into the backpack.

Once again, the statues didn't answer. The scoundrel stared venomously at the _Albatross_ in the distance, silently cursing the captain's name a million times. Quiet softly whimpered in his lap, and only now did Lyndon realize he accidentally squeezed the angel with his hands in his agitation.

\- I'm sorry – he hurried, letting go of him.

Quiet blinked several times, glancing around in confusion.

\- Leendonn, bad? – he asked timidly.

-… Yes. Very bad – the scoundrel looked at the ship helplessly again. – The worst we had so far, in fact.

Quiet audibly gulped and hugged one of his arms close to his small chest.

\- Lyndon, Guardian of the Eye, and Quiet, Origin of All – the statues suddenly spoke up in perfect unison, their voices grave and unwavering. – We regret to inform you that our servitude to you must come to end sooner than we have originally believed.

\- What are you talking about? – Lyndon turned back to them.

\- We have a plan. Our only option, perhaps.

\- Oh thank the gods – the scoundrel let out a sigh.

\- We are going to attack the _Albatross_.

\- _WHAT?!_

The sea monster began to turn towards the light, picking up speed, letting out a low but powerful growl that rattled its entire frame.

\- Are you insane?! – Lyndon cried out.

\- While we fight, you two will sneak on board and steal one of the landing crafts – the statues explained, clearly focused on the growing shape of the _Albatross_.

\- Johanna had killed the Prime Evil and Death itself! What is a sea monster to her?!

\- Nothing. Clearly.

\- You will die!

\- We will. Absolutely. That is why we can no longer serve you two, despite our initial plans – the figurines said solemnly. – But our goal is to damage the ship. Maybe even sink it. That will buy you much more time than trying to race it to port.

Lyndon helplessly glared at the seven figures, holding Quiet close to him.

\- This is a terrible plan – he tried weakly.

\- Yes.

\- Why can't you just drop me off somewhere on the other side?! I'm sure we can make our way to Westmarch—

\- But you must go to the Nest of Wrath – the statues said firmly. – There is… someone there, waiting for you.

\- Who?!

\- A monster you involuntarily helped create. You must deal with her, before moving on. It is your duty, and it will help you get stronger on your journey.

Lyndon's throat dried out at this. He couldn't find the strength to argue as the words sank into his mind. He helplessly turned to the rapidly growing _Albatross_ , its shape getting clearer and clearer in the night.

\- You don't have to do this – he tried for one last time.

\- We all have a duty to uphold in this world – the statues rumbled. – We had failed ours in the past, many times. In the end, we had to leave Mount Arreat in shame, with the Allfather's rightful anger upon our heads, dividing us for millennia. This is our one and only chance to make our mistakes right. Do not take it away from us, please.

Lyndon surrendered to his fate, casting his eyes on the back of the monster.

\- I am… truly sorry – he mumbled.

\- Don't be. We shall go out in a blaze of glory. Honor us by making sure you two survive and make it off the ship in time.

\- Will do – Lyndon took a deep breath, as the _Albatross_ ' alarms reached his ears.

oooOOOooo

To be honest, this was almost completely like that one time when they had used a ridiculously huge battering ram to get inside the Pandemonium Fortress, and for some godforsaken reason, Tyrael and Johanna had thought it a good idea to stand on the ram while that was happening.

And just like back then, Lyndon couldn't really explain how the hell they have survived the crash.

The ship noticed the incoming attack minutes before it actually happened. Clearly most of the crew including the passengers had been sleeping, and now everyone was scrambling and the chaos only played into the sea monster's hands… fins, whatever. On its back, Lyndon prepared for the crash: he took up a crouching position, with the backpack and Quiet on his chest, and readied himself for being flung into the air upon impact. The plan was that they would fly onto the top deck of the ship, he would roll over his head upon landing and then dash for the nearest landing craft, trying to use the chaos to their advantage.

Of course it didn't happen like that. The sea monster rammed into the right side of the ship with all of its might, but for some dumbass reason, the arch upon which they began flying was much, **much** flatter than originally thought. The rapidly approaching wooden hull only allowed fractions of moments for Lyndon to helplessly scream "I WANTED IN!" in his head, before collision. The scoundrel screwed his eyes shut and he tried to twist his body around mid-air, somehow shielding Quiet from the worst of it.

He landed on wooden floor and skidded on his back. Eyes flying open, Lyndon found himself staring at a ceiling, arms crushing the bag against his chest. The ship shuddered with horrible power, jolting the scoundrel. He jumped to his feet and began running through the nearest door. His mind registered that he was inside the ship, maybe one deck under the main one, but refusing to acknowledge the fact that the wall behind him, the one he supposedly flew through, was completely intact.

He really didn't have time to freeze up now. He was on a sinking ship with Johanna, after all.

Lyndon threw himself in between some barrels as panicking, shouting crewmen ran past him. No one batted an eye on him, their current focus was on survival, instead of the passenger-list of their ship. Hauling the bag on his back, Lyndon set out again.

\- Are you alright, Quiet? – he called out.

\- Arriyt! Arriyt!

\- Good. Hold on!

Lyndon desperately searched for the hatch that led to the main deck. Sailors running around like headless chickens, the insane rocking of the ship, barrels and other cargo bouncing around, and the general dread that Johanna could round the corner any goddamn time, all this made that task quite difficult. At one point, Lyndon's sixth sense flared up and he flung himself forward, skidding across the floor on his belly. Right where he stood the ceiling caved in, and one of the masts came crushing down, dragging the uselessly torn sail with it. Pushing himself up from the ground, Lyndon stared at it for a second, before jumping on it and finally climbing out onto the main deck.

Beyond the railing, the sea monster thrashed around, repeatedly bashing its entire body against the ship, roaring from the top of its massive lungs. Occasionally it raised its head and struck out, dragging a sailor into the water. Ropes and pieces of the masts rained on the heads of the crewmen, who shouted orders and called for weapons. Lyndon masterfully navigated in the chaos, vaulting over obstacles and evading others. He thought he spotted Eirena in the commotion for a brief moment, but thankfully the girl was swallowed up by the mayhem. As he ran, eyes fixated on the small boat resting on the deck, he noticed the captain to his right, shouting orders, standing just a bit too close to the railings.

Not even thinking, Lyndon changed course and stormed towards the treacherous man who failed to notice him until the very last second. The scoundrel jumped. Just before impact, their eyes met and Lyndon allowed and angry snarl to show up on his face. The captain wanted to scream, but by that time the scoundrel stomped into him with both feet, sending him tumbling over the edge.

Lyndon landed hard on his rear but he was safely on board.

\- Should have waited out that damned half a day, _mate_ – he spat as he stood up and rushed for the boat.

He couldn't fully believe it, but it looked like they would make it just fine. Nobody was paying any attention to them, most of the railing that would have stopped the boat from sliding off was gone, the sea monster was still alive and beating the hell out of the ship—

His sixth sense raised the alarm, but Lyndon barely had the time to act upon it in any way. The boat blew up right before his eyes, sending him flying backwards, blazing pieces of wood singeing his clothes. He smacked into the floor hard, the air was knocked out of him, Quiet crying in alarm on his back. Lyndon banged the back of his head into the wood and his vision swam, his skull filled with a dull ringing. Struggling to push himself up, he finally spotted the rapidly clearing form of Johanna in partial armor.

The Crusader was barreling down on him, fire-coated flails fluttering in the air like a flag in one hand, the other holding the well-known large shield.

\- FOUND YOU! – she screamed, eyes glinting with mad light.

Lyndon scrambled back, terror grabbing a hold of him. On his back, Quiet frantically held onto his neck for dear life, wings flared up from behind his cape, clear as day. Johanna was upon them, like an avenging angel, she jumped over some debris in her way, weapon ready to rain down pain and death upon her former comrade.

As the flail came crushing down, Lyndon's last thought was _safety_.

There was a horrible stabbing pain in his guts that quickly spread across his body. The vision of Johanna blurred and washed away.

Then Lyndon blacked out and couldn't feel his head colliding with the dark sandy shore.

* * *

 **Alternative title: Shit Hits the Fan, Because of Course it Would.**

 **This chapter was a bitch to get right. I had no idea how I could make it interesting, when it was supposed to be an info-dump. Then inspiration bitch-slapped me across the face during a dinner with my boyfriend, and I knew what my mission was.**

 **Because what is a sea monster without a ship to wreck in the meantime, CAN I GET AN AMEN?!**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed this one ^^**


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter 9_**

One of the worst feelings is when you wake up somewhere and you have no idea how you got there, where "there" is, and what happened exactly that got you there.

Quiet moaned painfully as he rolled over his head, his small feet dangling in the air. Sitting straight up, he groggily noted that he was on some kind of shore that had dark grey sand. The waves gently licked the ground not too far from him, behind him smaller plants began to sprout from the ground, gradually getting bigger and thicker the farther they were from the shore. Quiet turned back to the sea, blinking sleepily at the rising sun. The water was really calm now, not like during the—

 _Sea battle._

Quiet screeched in alarm and jumped to his feet, all senses flaring up with full force suddenly. What happened to Leendonn?! Where was his friend?!

\- LEEENDONN! – he screamed as he ran to the edge of the water, hopelessly staring at the horizon.

He couldn't be out there, right?! _Right?!_

Quiet burst out in tears. He shook his head, and just then he caught a glimpse of something dark on his right. It was Leendonn, completely unmoving, sprawled out on the sand, lying on his belly.

Quiet ran there and threw himself against the huumann, trying to shake him awake but to no avail. Leendonn didn't react to anything, even when the angel screamed into his ear. Fearing for the worst, Quiet pushed against the large body with all of his might, and managed to somehow turn it on its back. He remembered what Leendonn had done with the old huumann before calling him dedd, so he laid his small head onto the chest and listened. He could still hear the strange " _thump thump_ " noises in there, although slower than he remembered.

It was a good sign, right? It had to be! Leendonn wasn't dedd, he couldn't be!

Quiet slid down from the chest, which slightly moved up and down rhythmically, and hopelessly began pacing around his friend. He felt pressure building up inside him from worry and fear, so he did that had worked so far: he began keening. Only now Leendonn did not come to calm him down and reassure him that everything would be fine. Quiet realized he missed the comforting, if unintelligible words of his friend, or the "hush hush" sounds, or how he held him close to his chest or kept him on his back, or held his hand during walking, or… or anything he did. Without Leendonn's presence, this heart-wrenching sound did nothing to calm Quiet down.

The little angel suddenly stopped, stomped his tiny legs, and forcibly swallowed his whines, blinking the tears out of his eyes. His little fists clenched as he tried to reign in his fear. He would achieve nothing by walking up and down and crying, a fact he felt like he had known for far longer than he could remember back. He had to **do** something to make things better, to **change** them! But what? Quiet closed his eyes, drew strength from his sudden anger to combat his dread, and pondered.

Leendonn was alive, and probably sleeping deeply. He must have been exhausted. He… he needed a safe place to stay, a small fire and silence, just like on that night when they stopped next to a river. Right. Got it.

Quiet looked towards the big plants. That place looked good enough, maybe it would even hide them from enemies, if there were any around. He knew he wasn't strong enough to make Leendonn's body move, so instead he asked the ground to do it for him. A few seconds later, his friend was sliding among the big plants as if moving on his own, with Quiet trudging next to him, looking for a good spot. He quickly got frustrated, though. Why was this place so dense?! Why couldn't it be more useable, something to fit their needs better?!

He wanted a better place _now_!

The plants complied and they twisted, turned and moved around them, until there was a small clearing, with some of the large plants leaning over it in a weirdly bent way.

Quiet snorted. About damn time!

He gently set Leendonn down and got to work. Envisioning how that campfire had looked, he ordered sticks to gather in a pile and promptly self-combust. Quiet didn't remember it having such thick smoke before, but whatever, it was warm and it gave liyt. That's all that mattered. With that done, Quiet thought about the warm soft feeling the blanket had given him on his first niyt spent with his friend. Taking the large leaves of some nearby plants that were slightly bigger than him, he willed them to merge and change into textile, which he then pulled to Leendonn and covered him with it. It was too short, though, so Quiet ordered a couple more leaves to join the weave, until it was long enough to cover the huumann's feet.

Only then, did Quiet allow himself to just stop, sit down on a small rock that popped out of the ground, and just think. He didn't want to sleep, he wanted to make sure his friend was arriyt.

The place around them was silent, only the soft sounds of nearby small animals could be heard. It helped Quiet to focus and recall what had happened last niyt. He remembered the strange old huumann, the seven small figurines, the giant being in the water, and the battle on that large wooden thing. He recalled how Leendonn transported them into the thing, by avoiding the wall thankfully (he was a quick thinker, truly), and then navigated through that chaotic interior with screaming and shouting huumanns, all of whom didn't seem to notice them at all. Well… at least until that explosion and…

Quiet felt a shiver run down on his spine. That absolutely mad long-haired huumann with the wicked weapon and the blue eyes… The little angel couldn't really imagine why, but he was sure those blue eyes stared at **him** , and not at Leendonn. He felt like he had seen those eyes before…

And he knew now for a **fact** that he had to stay away from her. Stay close to Leendonn, by any means necessary.

His friend was also very clever, transporting them here, away from the mad huumann. Quiet remembered how Leendonn used his magic to do just that, and the little angel shared some of his own strange powers with him, to make sure it succeeded. He just had to wonder why Leendonn hadn't use this spell before during the traveling, if he knew how to do it. Surely, it would help a lot, wouldn't it?

Strange.

Quiet glanced at his friend. He was still sleeping. Maybe they will stay here for a day? Asking the plants to temporarily move out of the way, Quiet glanced up at the sun. It barely moved higher since he woke up on the shore. Hopefully that meant there was still a lot of time until niyt arrived. Quiet really hated the niyt, especially now that he feared Leendonn would still be sleeping deeply throughout that. Bad things tended to happen in the dark, if the past two days had been any indication.

Under Quiet, the stone changed shape so he could lean back slightly, but remain sitting up right. Maybe now he could ponder on the questions that haunted him. What was his name? Who was he? What were these weird images he sometimes saw? Especially, that one about those strange frozen flames. He saw those a lot, and upon looking at them, he got a distinct feeling that a part of him had been unmoving and stable for the longest of times. This traveling, moving around was foreign to it, which was weird since Quiet was also damn sure that he had moved around a **lot** in the past, even if he couldn't really recall the reasons why.

There were other… disagreements inside him too, now that he paid more attention inwards. At one moment he felt he had been absolutely **massive** , eternal and truly majestic. The next, he remembered being much smaller, but strong, agile and fast, soaring high or running on the ground. He had stayed in one place, his powers used by others to… do something. Next, he had much less power, but he made things happen by **himself** , no one else. He had been unique, one of a kind, but he was also an angel, one of many.

As if now there were two sides to him, which originally did **not** belong together.

\- Aye, that's smoke, lads. Stay sharp!

The distant rough voice tore apart Quiet's line of thought, whose red eyes flew open, but otherwise he remained still. He waited, mind going blank, listening to the approaching heavy stomps of multiple feet. His senses once again opened up, and he could feel how these beings trampled the plants and the ground, how the leaves brushed against their brandished swords. Leendonn did not twitch at the sounds, but Quiet could basically pinpoint their location with absolute accuracy.

From among the plants, four huumanns stepped onto the clearing. They wore strange clothes, somewhat similar to those serving on that wooden thing last niyt, and they held a sword and a dagger in their hands. Their leader, the one standing on the front, had a black thing covering his left eye.

\- Ey, an unfortunate camper! – he barked happily, his one eye glinting with hunger and malevolence. – An' a small brat! 'Tis a good day, lads! Some easy bounty, an' a new slave on me ship!

The others behind him agreed heartily. Quiet stood up from his seat, red eyes kept on the intruders.

\- Yo pop's drunk, brat? – the half-eyed man grinned at him with his ugly teeth. – He's sleepin' like the dead. Won'cha wake'em up to have some fun?

They wanted to hurt Leendonn.

Why did **everyone** they met want to hurt them? Why was everyone so evil?!

What was **_wrong_** with this world?!

Quiet felt his anger finally exploding into him as the ugly huumann took a step towards him. He had had enough of this! This was all wrong! This was not how it was supposed to be! He knew all this… **all** of this was a terrible _mistake_! Now look at it, all wrong, all ugly and imperfect, and it shouldn't be existing, may Anu damn it all to the Burning Hells and back! Where did it all go so wrong?!

The ground sucked the shouting huumanns in, only allowing their heads and necks to stick out. One of them threw his dagger in alarm, which Quiet called to his outstretched hand. All ten fingers curling around the handle, he held up the weapon and looked at its blade, sensing a familiarity with its shape. He had held such weapons before. And now he saw how Leendonn fought with it. Quiet glanced coldly at the intruders who were shouting incoherent words of fear.

They were evil, ugly, _imperfect_. They must be removed!

Recalling how Leendonn did it, Quiet stepped forward and stabbed the dagger in between the neck and the shoulder of the half-eyed huumann, whose voice stopped with a choke. Red blood gushed out of the wound, just like that niyt at camp, and a sudden power rushed from the wound, through the weapon and into Quiet who shuddered. He felt strength coursing through his body, and with the dagger now only held in one hand, he dashed forward, slashing throats of the two up next. Every time those ugly voices stopped working and blood fell onto the ground, Quiet felt yet another boost of power, all emanating from the dying huumanns.

It was _intoxicating_.

He was at nobody's mercy now!

Stopping at the last huumann, who was crying and saying something that sounded like pleading, Quiet frowned at his weakness. What a pathetic being! Only good for being the holster of his weapon. The dagger slashed and sunk into the forehead, cutting the begging short.

Silence settled back in. Quiet ordered the ground to swallow up the intruders completely. They weren't needed anymore. He looked down and saw his hands and clothes dripping with blood. It was sticky, had a strong smell and stuck to his fingers more than water did. Quiet stared as it slowly dripped from his hands. The rushes of power were gone, but their afterglow still lingered in his body. He didn't know where those came from, but they felt amazing!

Quiet glanced up at the still sleeping form of Leendonn.

Leendonn was fine. He was good and not ugly, and he kept the angel safe. Not like those ugly monsters! Quiet allowed his anger to be replaced by the happy and calm feelings from remembering how he protected and looked after him.

Leendonn was his friend. And Quiet would make sure that **none** of these ugly _mistakes_ would **ever** separate them.

* * *

 **Alternative title: "Cute Baby Quiet stops being Cute, holy FUCKING shit!"**

 **You cupcakes thought I would leave out Inarius' ugly as fuck side out of this story?! HAH! Oh boyyyyy, that would be just too easy! Honhonhonhonhon, this will be juicy...**

 **I've actually wanted to write a Quiet-centric chapter finally, and the circumstances granted me this opportunity now. Can't wait for more. -u-**

 **PaulM and JC , you guys are still around! Thank you so much for all of your kind words! ^^ I wish I could reply to your reviews in PM, but I guess we have to settle for the next best thing. Let's see where this story takes us, shall we? ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Puff!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 10_**

The only good thing in waking up with a splitting headache is the knowledge that you **still** have a head at least.

Lyndon stirred, the blessed inky darkness of nothing dissipating from his mind as pain took over. He grimaced, skull buzzing, and as his senses slowly woke up, he felt stiffness and dull pain in his whole body. It was as if he had participated in one of those infamously brutal trials of the Amazons, and not a single muscle in his body had been prepared for it.

\- Son of a bitch… – he muttered, one hand massaging his forehead, which he realized was warmer than usual.

At least that explained the occasional shiver running down on his spine.

Lyndon tried to force his eyes open, with little success. From the occasional peek, he thought he saw leaves above him. Leaves, that's weird… Weren't they out on the sea to—

The images of the sea monster, the sinking ship, its panicking crew and the treacherous captain exploded into his skull, like a sudden backhand out of nowhere.

 _Johanna_

Lyndon cried out in alarm, sitting up and almost throwing himself forward. Johanna saw them, she saw Quiet! They had to get away from her before—!

\- Leendonn!

The scoundrel shook his head, staring to his left. There was Quiet, sitting on a small rock that had a backrest and everything, small red eyes blinking in surprise. Lyndon let out a sigh of relief, seeing his charge alright. Then he had to double take at the sight.

At first he thought his aching head played tricks on him, but eventually he did come to the conclusion that Quiet's appearance changed slightly. It wasn't really obvious or huge, though: for starters, the golden tiara was no longer pure gold, but held a small ruby right in its center piece, like those chakra stone headpiece-things the monks used up north. The small wings also gained somewhat stronger light, and the wrist parts were now seemingly ruby gemstones as well. They were literally solid blood red stones that almost resembled frozen flames, the wing's "feathers" pretty much melted together with a few of their fibers.

\- Quiet, what happened? – Lyndon stared, slowly processing more and more information with his sluggish mind.

The little angel's clothes were caked with dried mud, as if he went for a bath without undressing, but after that didn't bother avoiding dirt. They were on a clearing, in some kind of forest, but Lyndon had no recollection of how they had gotten here in the first place. Some of the trees were strangely twisted and bent, possibly courtesy of Quiet.

The little angel chirped happily, stood up and rushed there to hug Lyndon's torso. The scoundrel awkwardly returned the gesture, his brain desperately struggling through the haze of pain and slight fever to somehow catch up.

\- What happened? – he repeated the question.

Quiet blinked up at him and chirped:

\- Kvaiet… Leendonn arriyt! – he frowned, and tried again. – Kvaiet… arriyt Leendonn… Leendonn arriyt Kvaiet?

Lyndon amazed himself with this, but he somehow managed to understand that Quiet was probably trying to say that he had made sure Lyndon was alright.

\- Thank you – he smiled slightly and petted the small head.

Quiet chirped happily and promptly disappeared into the forest. Lyndon sighed deeply, turning his attention to his surroundings finally. He had been lying on the ground, but was covered in a fine cotton blanket (was Quiet behind this as well?), and not too far from him the remains of a small campfire smothered. Considering the heavy smoky smell of everything around them, Quiet probably hadn't used dry wood for it. It was a bit hard to tell, but the scoundrel guessed it was morning. So… did he only sleep a few hours after… after what exactly?

Lyndon's expression grew blank, then alarmed. He remembered the sea battle. He remembered flying at the side of the ship, then… somehow ending up inside it. Then he had bolted for the main deck, eventually climbing onto it via a broken mast. He had knocked the captain into the sea as his revenge, then had gone for the nearest landing craft. Then… then Johanna had noticed them, destroyed the boat and had been about to deliver a definitely fatal blow when… when…

 **What** had happened?!

Rustling leaves announced the return of Quiet. The little angel held a wooden bowl packed full with all kinds of fruits, some of them inedible. He set it down next to Lyndon who uncertainly took a pear.

\- Quiet… how did we get here? – he asked.

The angel stared at him, before holding up his hands to his left and gestured:

\- Puff!

He then moved his fists to his right and repeated the gesture:

\- Puff!

To Lyndon's blank stare, Quiet could only shrug helplessly. He walked a little bit further away, stomped his foot and promptly sunk into the earth. A second later he rose a few meters away from his original position.

\- Puff!

He picked up a small pebble and began dragging it along the dirt, while shaking his head vehemently. Then he returned the pebble to its original place, and instead of dragging it, he quickly threw it onto another spot.

\- No valkkk! – he said. – Puff!

Lyndon's fuzzy brain worked overtime, trying to decode what his charge was trying to say, while he took a bite from the pear. It almost sounded like Quiet was describing _teleportation_ , but that couldn't be it. There was just no way.

Lyndon blamed his shivering on the fever.

He let the matter drop, after Quiet failed to come up with other methods to explain it, forcefully shutting out the possible answer that became more apparent with every second. They were far away from Johanna, that's what mattered. Now he had to gather himself, figure out where they were and find a way to nearest town.

 _But you must go to the Nest of Wrath. There is… someone there, waiting for you. A monster you involuntarily helped create. You must deal with her…_

Lyndon could hardly swallow the suddenly sour pear in his mouth. No… no, he will **not** go to Kingsport. Damn that place, he didn't care if the city got swallowed by the Burning Hells itself! Losing all of his appetite and getting anxious to just start moving, he placed the pear back onto the wooden bowl and stood up, folding the blanket into his backpack, along with some of the fruits.

\- Leendonn?

\- I am alright, Quiet, don't worry – Lyndon said, but his lie was so bad that not even the small angel bought it.

Still, Quiet dutifully raised one hand for the scoundrel to grab, and together they set out into the forest, leaving behind the camp. Tracking through the thick flora was a tiring process, and Lyndon's vision occasionally swam, the buzzing refusing to stop in his head. He could sense the occasional worrying look the angel sent his way, and a part of him was really frustrated by it for some reason. In all honesty, everything frustrated him right now, he noted sourly. He just wanted to get away from all of this _shitstorm_ and just… just **do** something else other than this. Great, he didn't even know what he wanted. Yet another source of irritation.

Lyndon crushed his teeth together so hard it hurt, but managed to refrain from shouting and throwing a tantrum. Like that would achieve anything. Thankfully, the forest noticeably grew scarcer and soon their feet hit a dirt road, plowed up by countless cartwheel-tracks. So there was a town nearby. Lyndon looked around he felt his heart sink. The road was running between the forest and a jagged black cliff that formed a natural wall. He recalled these rocks, they were quite characteristic for this place. He had had a smaller hideout here once, one that was well hidden even from the Thieves Guild. Which meant…

Lyndon gulped, slowly following the road. A few minutes of walking revealed a sudden and quite steep slope, as the path began its descent from the hill, and maybe two kilometers away rose the walls of Kingsport.

Just as Lyndon had predicted.

The scoundrel stared at the city, fingers squeezing the small hand of Quiet. From far away, it didn't look like there was anything wrong with the port: the buildings, walls and towers stood, the wind brought the sounds of a busy life. The only clue that something was amiss was the absence of sea traffic in the huge harbor stretching out on the water with incredible size and complexity. Normally, it should have been pulsing with life, ships and boats swarming around its many planks. Now nothing moved there, not a single sea faring carrack could be seen. The harbor was Kingsport's heart, and it clearly stopped working.

Lyndon stood atop the hill, watching his former home. There it was… the one place he did not want to go to. He could just turn around, guiding Quiet along, and they could set out to one of the nearby smaller villages from where they could get a horse or even a caravan ride heading for Westmarch. There were three towns he could think of immediately from the top of his head, where it was possible to get those.

 _We all have a duty to uphold in this world._

Lyndon cast his gaze to the ground and slowly began his descent on the slope.

oooOOOooo

From up close, the city still betrayed no obvious sign of trouble, although subtly it showed its predicament to those who knew the place well. There were no travelers and merchants coming and going from the gates. More guards stood on the walls, as if they were expecting an attack, but nearly all of them kept their eyes on the city, and not on the surroundings. The gates were tightly shut, with four pikemen standing before them.

Lyndon frowned, feeling out the bag of money in his coat. He had a feeling he would need quite a few bribe money for this one.

\- Halt, you vagabond! – barked one soldier. – What business do you have here?!

\- To find accommodations for the night – Lyndon stated simply, stopping a few meters away from the guard. He made sure Quiet stood mostly behind him, hidden from sight.

\- Turn around and drag yer flee-ridden ass away from here! – another pikeman spat on the ground.

Lyndon refused to let his poker face drop. He figured his beaten-up appearance really wasn't all that convincing. But what was up with the attitude, seriously?

\- I can pay – he offered.

\- We don't want yer filthy coin, beggar!

\- 'Ey, money's money, boys – said the third guard.

\- Aye, and ale and whores ain't cheap – the fourth agreed.

\- I ain't gonna accept coin from this filth! – the first one shouted at his comrades.

\- He's probably plagued, too! Ain't having that shit!

\- Suit yerselves! I'll carouse t'night away from the sum I'm getting, I will!

\- Like hell you will!

\- Watch me!

The guards were positively turning on each other at this point, two on each side, angrily shaking their weapons, completely forgetting about Lyndon. The scoundrel eyed the unfolding scene warily. Kingsport had always been known for its disciplined militia. It had one of the highest public safety, that's why it became such a huge port in the first place. This was also the reason this town's Thieves Guild was more infamous and dangerous than any other all across Sanctuary: they needed to be that way, in order to thrive here. This scene right before him shouldn't have been happening.

It was also becoming quite clear that Lyndon would never get through here. The scoundrel oppressed a grimace from showing on his face, as his ears picked up the slight, but definitely angry humming coming from behind him. Quiet was clearly displeased with the scene, and Lyndon had to act before things got really out of hand.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he closed his eyes and temporarily wrestled down the dread in his mind. He pictured the only place he knew… or at least hoped was safe in this city.

 _The Ruby Rose_ , he thought.

Nothing happened at first. The guards' squabble grew irritating at this point. Lyndon was about to just walk up to the goddamn gate and kick it in, when there was a slightly painful tug at his guts and a small sense of lurching forward. He staggered from the sudden loss of strength, nearly falling over. Opening his eyes, he noted he stood on one of the side streets of Kingsport, far away from the gate he just stood before. A quick glance jogged his memory and he noted that he missed his original target by a couple of blocks. Close enough.

\- Leendonn, puff! – Quiet exclaimed happily next to him, pointing at him.

Pushing the troubling thoughts out of his head again, he nodded without a word, then walked out to the main cobblestone street. They rushed along, Lyndon's senses tingling louder with each passing moment. There were people out in the open, most of them going about their usual business seemingly. But there was something in the air, a tension that covered everything like a thick blanket. Lyndon picked up on it, and he thought best to avoid locking eyes with anyone. Keeping his gaze on the ground, he heard a smaller group of men shouting profanities at each other not too far from them that quickly escalated into a fistfight. No one tried to stop them, instead a couple of bystanders began arguing with each other vehemently about who is going to win. Only a block away, a woman shrieked about the overpriced textile and tried to tear it out of the hands of the vendor. All around them, on the surroundings streets, the sounds of arguments, fights and breaking objects filled the air.

The entire town was one big oil barrel, just waiting for a spark.

Lyndon could feel it: a foreign aura, weighing down everything like a fishing net. It was vile, malevolent and definitely demonic, reminding him of all the times he stood before a powerful monster. One of them in particular, Azmodan came to mind. Lyndon pushed down his own frustration, clinging onto the experience he had received during his past adventures against such influences. He could feel Quiet's small fingers curling around his in agitation.

\- It is alright – the scoundrel whispered to him. – Stay calm.

\- Not arriyt – Quiet whimpered softly. His angelic senses were probably going nuts from this demonic aura.

\- We will be fine – Lyndon promised half-heartedly.

He risked glancing around occasionally. The buildings were in pretty bad shape, as if riots were a regular reoccurrence in the city: broken windows, torn off signs, vandalized walls. On certain places, he swore he could see dried blood on the pavement. Yet despite the disheartening appearance, Lyndon couldn't help the flood of memories washing over him. There was that bakery, now ruined, where he and Edlin as kids had often received treats from the owner, a fat lady with a heart of gold. Down one of the smaller streets, stood the stone chapel where Lyndon had often taken his nephew and niece to practice climbing buildings. There was that house which had once had lovely flowers on its porch, flowers that made for great presents for whichever lady he had visited. Ah, the old Roger's house. That cranky blacksmith had been one hell of a fencing teacher. That closed ceramic shop over there, now with broken windows, had been one of the few places from which Lyndon had never stolen. It had been run by a couple with four children, they needed every dime they got. Lyndon would have bet that wooden pillar before that inn's entrance still held the imprints of all those crossbow-bolts he had once fired at it, as a target practice. The so called "spring street", Edlin's favorite patrol route: the houses here used to proudly display window-boxes on the brink of collapsing from all the gorgeous flowers they held.

Everything was so familiar, yet so horrifyingly alien in its current state. First Johanna, then Edlin and Rea, now Kingsport… Lyndon had to wonder if he was destined to lose everything and everyone that was familiar in his life.

By some miracle, they ran into no trouble before reaching their destination. Lyndon finally dared to glance up at the proud entrance before him. It was one of the largest buildings in Kingsport, painted red and sporting one of the few stone entrances, equipped with pillars and everything. Above the large two-winged doors a golden trimmed sign proudly announced that this was _The Ruby Rose_.

The highest-end brothel of Kingsport. Once, Lyndon had been a regular here, and he hoped that former status would mean something even now.

This building suffered too in the current plight, most evident by its dark windows and eerie silence. Even in the day, there had been life here, but not now. At first, to Lyndon's knock, nobody answered. He grabbed the bronze knockers on the door and tried again, more forcefully this time. He hoped he didn't have to… sneak his way into here ( _don't say teleportation, do_ _ **not**_ _say teleportation_ ), he was far too tired for that.

\- Go away! – came a muffled shriek finally from the inside. – I have a sword, and by all the gods, I am not afraid to use it!

\- Bertha? Bertha, is that you? – Lyndon called out, recognizing the voice of the Mistress of this house. – Please, let me in! It's Lyndon.

\- What?!

\- I'm Lyndon! Please let me in! I really need a place to stay for the day!

There was a pause.

\- Leendonn? – Quiet asked timidly.

\- Stay next to me, alright?

The door's lock clicked loudly and one wing opened ajar.

\- Lyndon? Is that really you? – Bertha peeked out, one hand clutching the handle of some kind of weapon.

\- It's me, Bertha – Lyndon held up his empty hands, trying to smile softly. – So good to see you.

The door opened a bit farther, just enough for him to slip through. Inside, the paradox of familiar and alien continued for the scoundrel. There it was, the main hall with its luxurious carpets, chandeliers, candelabras, curtains, sofas, tables, plants, and of course the enormous main staircase that was the pride of this house. Yet, it also looked like a war zone. Most of the aforementioned luxuries were badly damaged one way or another, broken, torn down or hacked to pieces. The staircase missed most of its golden gilding. Bertha too mirrored the shape of her brothel: somehow she has managed to hold onto her slightly overweight body shape amidst all of this chaos, but instead of her usual noble attire, she wore rags becoming of a peasant woman. Her eyes were opened large and glimmered in a haunted way, her long black hair an uncombed mess that was held together only by a string, her face devoid of any make-up. She held a sword in one shaky hand, and from the stains on it, she had to use it not long ago. She quickly closed the door behind Lyndon, fumbling with the keys.

\- Lyndon, I—I cannot believe it! – she stammered. – After all these years… Where have you been?

\- All over Sanctuary, to be honest – Lyndon waved. – Listen, Bertha, I can see you are… not open, but can you give me a room? At least for today.

\- I—I'm afraid my… former services are no longer available, Lyn – Bertha anxiously wrapped her fingers together. – All I have left are two hand-maidens and even them are… - she gestured helplessly.

\- All I need is a bed, maybe a hot bath – the scoundrel shook his head. – Do not worry about me.

-… You have changed – Bertha said softly, looking into his eyes.

\- Yes… Many things happened, really. I would have been surprised if it didn't change me – Lyndon nodded tiredly.

Bertha wanted to say something, but her eyes finally fell onto the small form of Quiet who tried to hide in Lyndon's coat. The woman froze up.

\- Is that… a demon? – she whispered, eyes locked onto the bottomless darkness under the hood that was supposed to be the face.

\- No. But he is not human – Lyndon admitted uneasily. – Bertha, please trust me. He won't harm you. We only want to stay for one night.

Bertha stared at him for long.

\- You are not like everyone else here – she said finally. – How are you not like them?

\- What has—?

\- BERTHA, WHO IS THIS?! – came the shriek from somewhere deep within the building.

\- SHUT UP, ELLA! – Bertha screamed back.

\- THROW THEM OUT OF HERE!

\- THEY ARE STAYING, DAMNIT!

\- YOU ARE SUCH A STUPID BITCH!

\- DON'T MAKE ME GO THERE AND BEAT YOU UP AGAIN! – Bertha howled, raising the sword angrily.

Lyndon clammed his mouth shut, stunned by the scene. Quiet whimpered and tried to wrap himself into the coat's tail, shivering.

\- Sorry about that – Bertha mumbled in the pause, lowering her weapon.

\- Bertha, what has happened to this city? – Lyndon asked desperately. – What is wrong with everyone?

He reached down and lifted Quiet from the ground, cuddling him to somehow calm him down.

\- It all started… oh goodness, was it weeks ago? Months, even? – Bertha gulped. – It is so hard to tell, the days are melting together, Lyn. Everyone just… became angry and aggressive, like starved stray cats. We… we fight over everything, it is maddening. Nothing and no one is safe. There are riots. The city guards slaughter people, even those who did nothing. My brothel got destroyed, I had to close the doors and defend myself, because people still try to break in, just to **fight** me. Kingsport is dying, Lyn! These are our final days!

She pulled at her hair, trying to still her violent shivering.

\- But… but you are different. You haven't gone mad – she pointed out after a pause. – How?

\- I've… just arrived – Lyndon answered, deciding not to mention that he felt and fought the demonic aura. It would have only caused panic.

\- The guards do not let anyone in or out, Lyn. How did you get past them?

\- I… I have my own tricks, Bertha. You forget you are dealing with the best con artist in all of Kingsport – Lyndon tried for a weak smile.

\- That is true – Bertha's mouth twitched as she was trying to return the gesture as well. – So… you said you wanted a room?

\- Yes, at least for one night. Can you give me one?

\- Come with me. Some of them remained relatively untouched. I'll give you my best available, I swear – Bertha began scuttling towards the main staircase. – It is so good to have you back, Lyndon. I wish I could welcome you properly…

\- Do not worry about that – Lyndon shook his head, following her. – I am just glad you are okay.

The rooms closest to the stairs were trashed, true to her words. Most of them even missed their doors, revealing the destruction –and in some cases, carnage– inside. Dried blood covered some of the beds and the carpets, or painted the walls in a gruesome way. Lyndon could picture the fighting happening, attackers going from room to room, slaughtering those trapped inside, mostly women, no doubt.

Whatever demon was responsible for this, they had a lot to pay for.

As they went deeper, the corridor and the rooms became less and less damaged. Bertha fumbled with her keys and opened a door to one of the more spacious ones. Apart from the layer of dust and the few spider-webs in the corners, it looked exactly like the glory days: expensive crystal glasses stood on a mahogany night table, a giant king-sized bed covered in silk and satin took up a good chunk of the space, gold-laced curtains covered the windows that looked down upon the small backyard of the building. By the wall, a giant armoire stood, still stocked with fine clothes and a long, dark blue coat. In one corner, separated by a gorgeous-looking wood-ivory folding screen from the rest of the room, a copper bathtub lied. All the ornaments were still in place.

\- This is the royal suite – Lyndon looked around in awe. – Bertha, I—I can't pay for this.

\- Do not insult me! – Bertha snapped in sudden anger, before reeling herself in. – S—sorry about that… But fear not, I do not expect you to pay.

\- What? Bertha—

\- Money has no meaning anymore – the woman interrupted him, laughing bitterly. – Look around! Do you believe coins are worth anything here?!

\- At least accept this much – Lyndon offered the bag of money from his pocket. – I—I heard the Hero of Sanctuary was coming here. She will free Kingsport, you'll see.

\- The Hero—You know of her? – Bertha gasped. – I heard rumors! She wrestled with gods, did she not?!

\- Ehm… yes, she did.

A small glimmer of hope lit up in the mistress' haunted eyes, as she took the payment.

\- There is a chance – she whispered. – Oh, Lyndon, thank you so much! We might survive after all… She can help us, right?

\- I am certain she can – Lyndon nodded, swallowing the bile in his mouth.

\- Gods bless you, Lyndon! – Bertha shouted, suddenly pulling him into a tight hug, startling Quiet who let out a loud but short shriek and clung onto Lyndon with greater force. Lyndon awkwardly returned the gesture with one arm, feeling miserable.

\- I will prepare the best bath you ever had in your life, I swear! – the woman let go of him, rushing out of the room. – It is the least I can do!

Lyndon let out a shaky breath. Right there and then, he hated himself like never before. He tried to set Quiet to the ground, but the angel held onto his clothes, scared to the core.

\- Leendonn, baadd. Big baadd – he whimpered, eyes filled with tears, wings quivering like those of an anxious butterfly. – No go, Leendonn…

\- It is alright, we are safe here – Lyndon whispered to him, pulling down the hood and stroking the white hair reassuringly. – We will stay for only one night, okay? Nothing bad will happen.

He almost bit his tongue at that last lie.

Quiet sniffled:

\- Ssskerrrd.

\- I know you are scared. But we are safe. Trust me, please.

\- Huumann baadd.

\- She is just as scared as you are. Everyone is scared. There is a demon nearby, but I bet you can feel it as well.

\- D-ddeeemonn baaddd…

\- They don't know you are here. They won't find us, I promise – Lyndon rocked him gently. – We have a good bath, a long sleep, then we are out of here. Alright?

-… Arriyt – Quiet whimpered, wiping the tears off his cheeks with his tiny hands.

He allowed Lyndon to set him down on the ground, but refused to let go of his trouser-leg. Steps sounded up in the corridor and Bertha appeared in the door, carrying a large basin chuck-full of steaming hot water. She had a fresh bruise under her eye.

\- Ella will bring the other one soon – she stated as she poured the water into the bathtub.

\- Did she beat you up? – Lyndon stared.

\- She tried to. I beat her up first – Bertha glanced at him helplessly. – We are all trapped in this madness, Lyndon. I pray the Hero arrives soon.

She placed a bar of soap and two towels next to the tub, then left again. True to her word, a handmaiden showed up in her place, bringing another basin. She looked far worse than Bertha, thin, pale, full of bruises and cuts. Most of her hair was gone, her white apron grey and tattered. Ella looked like a lunatic that broke out of an asylum. She just stared at Lyndon with her haunted eyes, not saying a word, refusing to look elsewhere, as she was expecting the man to ambush her. Quickly emptying the basin, she practically fled out of the room and closed the door behind herself.

Lyndon let out a loud sigh, and gently began to undress Quiet who blinked at the bathtub in confusion.

\- Come on… let's get you clean.

The little angel showed no resistance, only uncertainly kept looking at the water even as Lyndon lifted his nude body from the ground and slowly eased him into the tub. Quiet stiffened up for a second, but almost immediately eased up and let out an almost happy hum. Lyndon couldn't help but smile slightly at the scene. He gently scrubbed his charge clean with the soap, from top to bottom. Quiet did not fight him, although his wings darted out of the way of Lyndon's hands, possibly due to an involuntary reaction. He splashed the water, playing with the foam, his fears temporarily forgotten. Lyndon allowed himself to get lost in the happy scene, to at least calm himself down for the moment.

\- Hey! Hey! I will do it myself, don't worry – he laughed a little as he had to lean back, away from the tub. Quiet gathered a handful of foam into his arms and tried to smear it on the scoundrel's chest, no doubt intent on helping him clean up as well. The little angel chirped back, mimicking the laughing with his voice.

When they were done, Lyndon lifted him out of the tub and quickly wrapped him into one of the towels, rubbing him dry in the meantime. He gently placed him onto the bed and covered him up with the blanket.

\- Now, try to sleep. You are pretty tired, aren't you? – Lyndon cooed to Quiet, lulling him. – Have a long, deep sleep and when you wake up, we will go to Westmarch and leave this bad place behind, alright?

\- Mhmhm arriyt – Quiet mumbled, eyes already closing from the warmth.

Lyndon stood over the little angel, the small smile slowly disappearing from his face. It was his turn to take a bath, finally ridding himself from the grime of this mad adventure so far. The clean feeling helped somewhat with his mood, although nothing could truly cheer him up now. He wished he could just stop thinking, but there were no distractions now to draw his attention away from his dark thoughts.

A part of him did not want to be here at all, and was currently berating him vehemently.

 _Why did you come here?! What can you do here?! You can't help these people! Did you come to kill her?! As if you could! She was always your soft spot, there is nothing you can do against her._

It was horrible, seeing his once beloved city in this unholy state. Kingsport had been a jewel of the Kingdom of Westmarch, far prouder and nobler than the capital itself. The people were suffering here, an alien anger invading their minds.

And Lyndon had made sure that Johanna would arrive here with even greater delay.

He wanted to somehow reach in and tear out the crushing guilt from his chest. People were dying or spent their days in sheer terror like Bertha, and their salvation was still so far away, because of him.

He was one true failure, was he not?

 _You won't be able to do a fucking thing against her, just watch! You are useless!_

Lyndon washed their clothes in the bath water after he was done, donning a night gown he found under the bed's sheets.

\- Stupid… useless… worthless – he mumbled to himself, hanging the clothes onto the folding screen to dry.

Myriam had seemed so sure that he could do this task… whatever the hell it was. The vecin lady had too much faith in him, he realized. He couldn't do anything right, after all, only fuck things up spectacularly. All he had to do was look back upon his life to see it clear as day. Rea, Edlin, the Thieves Guild, Johanna and now Kingsport. Nothing was safe from his misfortune-bringing touch.

 _You hate yourself. That is good_ , an unknown voice suddenly hissed in his mind.

It would have been too subtle for a normal human to pick up, but Lyndon's keen senses received the words clearly. They knocked him out of his stupor and he hurriedly re-erected his mental defenses against the demon.

Glancing at the armoire, he quickly dressed up into the fine clothing. Making sure Quiet was sleeping deeply, he opened the window and climbed out, disappearing into the night.

* * *

 **Been a while, huh? To be honest, I'm not sure how fast the next chapter will be coming, considering the bit of a chaos that is in my imagination right now, but this finaly days of the semester was shitty enough for me to get this chapter done.  
**

 **Onward to ever deeper parts of the abyss, I say!**


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter 11_**

In the past, Kingsport's harbor at night had been a sight to behold from the rooftops. The lights, the cheerful buzzing of life, the enormous and proud ships coming and leaving. Lyndon remembered spending countless hours with Edlin or his children, gazing at it, trying to guess what sorts of silly events might be happening down there, betting on which big ship will land or leave port sooner.

Now it looked depressingly dark and lifeless, yet it wasn't completely abandoned. Lyndon could still make out a few silhouettes rushing about under the weak light of one row of lanterns. The scoundrel's boots were planted firmly on the dark roof tiles of _The Ruby Rose_ , stable as if he was on the flat ground itself. His cat-like agility had always been a great help in his messed up life. Lyndon had to wonder if it was yet another inhuman skill fate had decided to curse him with.

He felt angry. Angry with the world, with his own misfortune, with his former friends, with Rea, with _Quiet_. Why did the angel have to barge into his life and ruin it?! He had had everything: a group with whom he could travel safely, more money than he had seen in his life so far, a simple normal life not wrecked by crazy mutant powers—!

Lyndon stopped himself with dread. What the **hell** was he thinking?! Quiet had **nothing** to do with this whole mess. The scoundrel's life had been falling apart before they ever met, Johanna had been losing it long before that trip to the Realm of Hatred.

 _Not today, you son of a bitch_ , he sent this thought out into the ether as he bridled his emotions yet again.

He was sure the demon got his message.

Still, his sudden anger did bring up an unwanted subject in himself. Namely, these powers of his: his foresight, that sudden strength with what he had lifted Meshif up from the ground, and… and now _teleportation_. There, he said it. Were they a curse? A blessing? Perhaps both? The more he dwelled on them, the more he felt alone. He had lived his whole life thinking that he was normal, but that knowledge no longer held any truth. The revelation left him disoriented and _afraid_. What did it all mean regarding his future? Will some sort of extra responsibility be thrusted upon him, simply because he was different? Will he be able to stay among other, **normal** humans (if he lives that long, that is), or will he be forced out? After all, most people with unnatural powers banded in secluded groups, like the sorceresses, the druids or the necromancers. Lyndon knew he would not be able to bear that fate. He needed the buzzing of life around him, opportunities to grab and obnoxious nobles to annoy, in order to function properly.

Most importantly: was he a Nephalem as well?

Deckard Cain did mention something that with the destruction of the Worldstone (whatever the heck that was), it was now possible for Nephalem to be born, or to "rediscover" their potential.

Lyndon gazed over the harbor as something big and dark appeared over the horizon. He did not want to be a Nephalem. He did not want to be special. He just wanted to be a normal, everyday thief who helped saved the world however he could, but never was in the center of attention. The shadows were his element, not the spotlight. Especially not now, that even his womanizer ways were pretty much over.

Lyndon watched as the _Albatross_ , battered and barely sea-worthy landed in port. People rushed about the ship, no doubt being stunned by its miserable shape. The captain had been right: it truly was a fine ship, if it was able to stay afloat after the attack.

Oh, how Lyndon wished he could go back to his old days, when nobody expected anything of him, when the most he had to worry about was keeping a low profile around city guards and some ex-girlfriends. Back when his life was simple and on track (even if not perfect), and he knew where and why he was going. Now, nothing was for certain, and he felt like everyone was expecting some sort of miracle from him. As if he could do anything that would make a difference. What a joke.

Something huge tumbled from the main deck of the ship onto the landing stage. It had an odd shape, and from the distance, Lyndon needed some time to decipher what he was seeing. Eventually, he succeeded, though.

It was the decapitated head of the sea monster.

Lyndon took a deep breath, turned away and carefully climbed off of the roof, landing on the cobblestone street. He began walking, his steps eventually growing firm, his direction certain and unwavering. He felt his anger turning into something that no doubt pissed off the demon like nothing else: determination.

He couldn't do a thing to make a difference. But damn it all to Hell if he wasn't going to try.

oooOOOooo

There was another riot deep within Kingsport. For what reason, against whom, there was no way to tell. Not that it mattered. Buildings got destroyed, people got hurt or killed, that was the whole point of it. That's why the demon sparked it in the first place.

Lyndon didn't know who or where this monster even was, or if he could do anything against it. First, he had other business to attend to. He owed Seven that much after their sacrifice.

As he marched ever forward, he felt himself get detached from everything, even though chaos ruled around him. People screamed curses at each other or into the ether, they vandalized their surroundings with no rhyme or reason. Some houses were set on fire. Groups were beginning to form, turning against each other over literally nothing. Tools, bottles and makeshift weapons were waved around or even thrown, but nothing touched Lyndon. He didn't even spare a single glance at them, merely ducked out of the way when necessary. Not once did his step waver, no matter what happened around him. People got out of his way, looking for other targets rather.

\- Demon eyes! – one homeless beggar hag yelled, pointing a crooked finger at him.

Lyndon flashed his gaze at her and she shied away, hissing like an exorcised specter.

A group of four pikemen came his way. They were busy with the crowd, their weapons brandished to shed blood tonight. One of them stabbed a woman to death, then turned his attention to the scoundrel and charged, shouting something about violations of curfew. Lyndon side-stepped the strike with ease, he wove his arms around the pike and yanked it out of the soldier's hands. Before the man could react, Lyndon spun the weapon around and stabbed him straight through his chest, as if his armor plate was thin air. The guard tumbled to the ground, his comrades quickly distancing themselves from the scoundrel who kept on walking as if nothing happened.

He passed by a window that hasn't been smashed in yet. In the light of a nearby burning building, he thought he saw his reflection with blazing bright green eyes. It may have been the flames playing tricks, but he somehow doubted that. Still, the sight was not enough to make him falter or even slow down.

Lyndon stubbornly hung onto his determination as he took a turn, and finally stopped before a few steps of stairs, leading up to a once proud building. He stared at the entrance, its every little crook and detail bringing back memories.

With a deep breath, Lyndon kicked in the door and stepped inside Edlin's former home.

oooOOOooo

Quiet woke.

He had dreamt with fear and doubt, once familiar voices accusing him of being foolish and blind. They had feared him, feared what he would do. Why? What did he do? Why did he deserve so much hate? Waking up brought a temporary relief from the nightmare, but it was quickly replaced by a new source of worry.

Leendonn was not there with him.

Quiet looked around, but couldn't make out the silhouette of his friend in the dark room. Instead of panicking, however, he tried to collect himself. He knew he could be strong, and he knew Leendonn was strong too. His friend probably left to do something. All Quiet had to do was find him.

He climbed out of bed, a bit reluctant to leave the comfortable warmth behind. Seeing his clothes hanging from something tall, he ordered that thing to lean down and let him take them. Remembering how he wore them, this time he easily pulled the tunic over his head and the trousers onto his legs. He liked these clothes, if he had to be honest with himself. They were practical, simple, and didn't get in the way. With the cape he struggled a bit, but eventually managed to get it right as well. Pulling the hood deep in his eyes, he looked around for an exit.

The window was ajar, perfect!

Climbing up onto the jamb with some difficulty, he pushed the wings open and stared down at the ground that was way, **waaay** below him. Well not for long, Quiet decided and he asked it nicely to rise in a spot and let him climb atop it. Riding that makeshift elevator to the backyard, he hoped off, closed his eyes, and tried to find Leendonn with his senses. At first, they didn't want to comply easily. Eventually, a familiar feeling reached him: huumanns, countless of them were rushing about on the streets, although their bustling now did not fill him with happiness like it did in that place with the many shiny things. Instead, he felt anger coming from them, anger that although helped sharpening his senses, also made him worry for Leendonn. Was he alright out there? Only one way to find out.

Quiet walked out of the backyard, asking the stone fence before him to move out of the way for the second. He looked around uncertainly, then took a random guess and went in that direction. The houses here were incredibly tall and close to each other, as if they wanted to cuddle together. Quiet could understand that: it did feel very nice to snuggle close to someone you trusted. His senses kept opening wider, he could now make out the many pair of legs pounding on the pavement, the shockwaves they sent through the ground. One pair of boots stood out of the crowd: their steps were orderly and rhythmical. Quiet somehow knew that was Leendonn. He was pretty far away, the angel would have to hurry to catch up to him.

There was something else: Quiet could feel, now clearer than ever, the demonic aura. It was like an ugly glowing red spider web, weaving around everything, growing thicker with each passing moment. This demon was large and powerful. Quiet was afraid of him, but his fear wasn't strong enough to stop him on his tracks. He needed to find Leendonn, together they could beat this monster if he tried anything!

Quiet hurried on his way, occasionally passing through building interiors when one got in the way and he asked its walls to let him through. Sometimes he saw glimpses of fire and a crowd of huumanns on the main street not too far from him. He frowned, asking the flames on one building to stop burning. What was the point of this? Is this how huumanns behaved when they were scared, like Leendonn had said? How did setting a building on fire help? Did they think it would scare the demon away? Quiet couldn't be really sure, but he felt like demons actually liked fire… or at least weren't afraid of it.

He wandered between the large houses for what seemed like hours, following Leendonn's trail. Eventually, he stumbled upon yet another stone fence. Humans really did like those things, huh? Getting past that, Quiet noted the strange place he found himself in. It was a big open area, with a strangely shaped stone building on one end, that had a tall tower with a pointy roof on its front. There were paved paths running in different directions, crisscrossing each other, but most of the ground was covered in grass. And what was up with those strangely shaped stones sticking out of the ground? They looked like slabs, but a couple of them had other forms. Quiet uncertainly wandered up to one, wishing he could read the signs on it. In the distance there were a few smaller nice buildings, surrounded by these stones as well. Some of the slabs had candles around it.

Was this a park? A garden? Weren't gardens supposed to be nice? This place was not very nice, to be honest. It looked grey and ugly… sad, even.

Quiet quickly decided he would ask Leendonn about it when he would catch up to him. He began scuttling around one of the paths, locating his friend yet again. Strange, Leendonn didn't seem to be moving right now.

\- **Wait… I sense something.**

The deep powerful voice, coming from one of the nicer small buildings, stopped Quiet dead on his tracks. A sharp stab of fear grabbed a hold of him and he dove behind one of the bigger slabs, not even thinking. He couldn't see but heard and felt the large metal door flung open and large, wide paws pounding on the ground. Nostrils sucked in the air loudly. Muscles tensed under the skin as they made the body move around. The demonic aura suddenly grew thick, nearly choking Quiet. The little angel covered his mouth with his hands, trembling uncontrollably against the stone. Every instinct of his screamed at him to run, but he couldn't make his legs move.

The stone slab suddenly exploded into his back, sending him flying and smacking hard into a nearby tree, cutting his screech short. Quiet tumbled to the ground in a painful heap, forcing his eyes to open.

\- **An angel, here?**

The demon stood some meters away from him, and he was absolutely _hideous_. He towered over Quiet like a mountain, standing on four clawed legs. His back was hunched and covered in short red fur that turned into a shaggy mane around his neck. His head was long, his mouth filled with teeth, horns sprouting from behind his pointy ears. Two wide nostrils sucked in the air with an audible snort, dead white eyes glimmered in the dark. His mane looked like there were small fires smoldering in it occasionally, and he had two long, serpentine tails, quite literally: they both had snake heads on their ends, hissing angrily.

\- **What in the Burning Hells are you supposed to be?** – the monster stared at his foe. – **Did angels become even more pathetic over the eons? I thought that was impossible.**

Quiet didn't exactly understand every word, but the voice itself sent shivers down his spine. He struggled to his feet and ran, screaming in alarm.

He could feel the monster pounding after him with ease, laughing with glee.

oooOOOooo

It took quite an amount of willpower just to stand in the main hall of the house.

Lyndon couldn't find a spot to look at without being reminded of something. The dust-filled carpet was the very same one on which Maya once accidentally slipped while they were playing tag, and she ended up slamming into the railings of the stairs. Rea freaked out, but the little girl just laughed it off and kept on running, with one milk-tooth less.

The oil lantern mounted on the wall still stood a bit crooked, after Eric had tried to hang from it, playing that he was a monkey.

Edlin's city guard armor was displayed proudly against a wall.

Lyndon could almost believe he came home. Only, there was no one here now, the house was dead.

\- Maya? Eric? – he called out, hoping the children would hear.

Maybe there were simply asleep… Yeah, that was it.

 _It's not that._

Lyndon forcefully cut that thought short. He uncertainly wandered deeper in the building, hearing nothing. He glanced into side rooms, noting how everything was covered thickly in dust and spider webs. The kitchen looked like the only place that had been used not long ago. It was still dark and damp, but there was relatively fresh meat of some kind on the counter, cut to pieces. A large pot of water was placed over the fireplace, knives, spoons, and a few bones littered everywhere. Lyndon quickly pulled out of the room, moving on, refusing to acknowledge that one of them looked like a human shin bone.

He walked by another room, which revealed an entire mountain of gold coins. Around it, leather bags were thrown around, each emptied into the pile. Lyndon stared at the treasure, heart sinking. This was the money he had sent to Edlin's family, to help them get by. But it looked like not a single dime had been touched here. A whimper called his attention and he entered the dark room, looking for its source. The last thing he expected to find was a treasure goblin chained to a wall with a collar, just out of reach from the money pile. Lyndon stared at the miserable little creature as it tried to crawl towards the treasure. He had killed many of these little wretches during his adventures with Johanna, and the amount of value they carried had always amazed him. These ugly little creeps must have had immense physical strength to drag their load with them, which might have explained the occasional runes flashing up on the collar, no doubt stopping the goblin from just yanking it out of the wall.

Lyndon truly hated these things since they were always a nightmare to chase down and kill before they could escape through their unique golden portal. But right there and then, as he saw that miserable little welp chained down against his will, clearly beaten, and without a single dime to call his own, he just couldn't bring himself to look at it with disdain. With a loud sigh, he walked up to the creature that screeched in alarm and tried to scuttle away from him, into the wall. From up close Lyndon noticed that its horn was white instead of the usual bluish tone, and this white spot also ran down on the whole length of its nose, making it look like it wore some kind of war paint.

\- Hey, it is alright – Lyndon crouched down before the trembling goblin.

He flashed the dagger and shattered the chain. The treasure goblin cried in terror, curling up into a ball, no doubt awaiting the finishing blow. When that did not come, it slowly realized that it was free. Lyndon stood up and backed away from the creature, sheathing his dagger.

\- Go now. Take it – he gestured at the money pile. – Wherever you may take it, it will be used for more than here.

The goblin blinked at the treasure. Then at Lyndon. He took an uncertain step towards the money pile, keeping one eye on the scoundrel to see if he would attack. But Lyndon was already walking out of the room.

\- Get out of here – he called over his shoulder, stepping over the doorstep.

He could hear the well-known, excited shout from behind him.

Gulping, he moved on, choosing not to question his own unpredictable decision-making as of late. It couldn't have been a good sign, but he just simply didn't have the energy to worry about that.

\- **She's here** – came the deep and malevolent tone from a room ahead.

Lyndon stopped and listened, one hand resting on the dagger in his belt.

\- And you wish my help.

 _Rea._

\- **I took you up, gave you strength. You are bound to me.**

\- Of course.

\- **I shall lure her to the main streets with the most humans. They will help our cause. Go there and prepare yourself. This will be a hard battle.**

\- You give her too much credit.

\- **You give her too** ** _little_** **, blind mortal. Now—Wait… I sense something.**

The talking stopped and steps sounded up in their place. Lyndon remained where he was, not moving to hide somewhere. A few meters beyond, at the end of the corridor, a door opened, and out stepped…

\- Lyndon – Rea cooed, not even looking remotely surprised. – So you came back. I wasn't expecting you.

The scoundrel remained silent. The… thing before him had Rea's face and voice, her raven black hair just as perfect as it had ever been. Her skin was still white and fair like porcelain, and her cheeks held a soft blush at all times. Her lips bright red, her eyes the same light blue, almost white, as always.

But beyond her neck, it was not Rea. She wore one of her tattered, torn blue dresses. Her arms both grotesquely huge, the skin turning greyish-blue and scaly on them, the palms as wide as her torso, fingers ending in long iron nails. From under the skirt, her legs were twisted into the clawed paws of some kind of beast, covered in blue scales as well.

\- Where are the children? – Lyndon finally found his voice, locking eyes with the monster.

\- Do I not even get a proper greeting? – Rea asked innocently, opening her demonic arms into a hug.

Her waist became visible. She wore a dark belt, that had two strange lobes of something sewn onto, one on each side of her hip. Lyndon stared at the rags.

No… no, they weren't rags…

\- Rea, **where** are Maya and Eric?! – he demanded again, pulling out the dagger from his belt. – Where are they?!

\- Why, they are right here. Why are you so worried? – Rea answered, grabbing the two rags and stretching them out like wings.

They were dried human skin.

The haze of denial finally shattering, Lyndon lunged forward, weapon held high.

* * *

 **Damn, that's deep shit right there.  
**

 **Smaller trivia: I based Rea's "monster form" on the folklore of Black Annis/Agnes. It's a British witch, who is most notable for having long iron nails and a taste for human flesh, especially children. She was used to scare kids into obedience, of course. I have poured over many possible female folklore monsters, even considered my favorite hag, Baba Yaga (Slavic folklore) for a brief time, but eventually I felt Black Annis was better for the "occasion".**

 **Anyway, that's all for today's folklore lesson, cupcakes! I actually am planning to use more mythological and folklore references in the future, when the opportunity shall arise. And I shall be happy to drop some more knowledge on ya! See you around, and keep being awesome!**

 **P.S. We do not know how many children Edlin had (only that there are more of them), what their genders or names are. So everything you read here about them is simply my addition and not at all canon. Just to make that clear.**

 **REVIEW ANSWERS:**

 **Guest: I'm both surprised and honored by your opinion. ^^ I personally haven't really intented this story to be heart-warming, but I am so glad it turned out that way (I am a sucker for those stories as well). I know I probably wrecked that opinion with this chapter, and I'm sorry for that, but there will be lots of ups and downs throughout the whole journey, I can promise that much. Thank you for reviewing and I hope I'll see you down the line again. ^^**


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter 12_**

Quiet ran for his life.

The ground, the trees, even the stone slabs all moved to defend him, but the demon dog easily tore through their assault, the most they could do was slow him down, maybe draw his attention away for a split second. Something in Quiet told him that in the past he was able to take advantage out such openings, and dispose of the enemy that way. But back then, he was bigger, stronger, he knew what to do. Now, the most he could think of was flee in terror, unable to even stop his screams from erupting from his chest.

It also didn't help that another part of him never had to fight before, he had always been the one other fought over. Now that he was in the center of the action… He had no idea what to do!

\- **What sort of mad sorcery is this?! Are you making a joke?** – boomed the demon, making quick work of an attacking tree.

He spat a fireball towards Quiet, and while it missed, the resulting explosion sent the angel flying yet again, tumbling across the ground like a helpless ragdoll. Quiet tried to stand up, but one of the long tails snaked around his torso and lifted him up, squeezing him terribly. He screamed for Leendonn, helplessly kicking the air with his legs, hands desperately trying to peel off the bound.

\- **This is what the great Zaboul got reduced to** – the demon growled angrily, slowly lifting his catch to eye level. – **Chasing weak worthless dwarf angels on this mudball…**

Quiet locked eyes with the monster and he froze up in fear.

\- **I am curious about these powers of yours, though** – Zaboul grumbled. – **What magic is this?**

The angel did not answer, his entire being consumed by a crushing fear. He looked into those dead eyes, and suddenly saw a millions of similarly horrible faces flash up before him, each hideous, evil and cruel. They all wanted to hurt him, kill him, capture and torture him for their own amusement. Even that one… that single one whom he had trusted once (who?), ended up betraying him.

His instincts screamed at him. He needed to survive, he needed to get away, but how?!

\- **What, your voice doesn't work, wretch? Answer me!**

One of the snakes bit Quiet on the shoulder, making him shriek in pain. Something snapped in him.

Fear suddenly turning into anger, Quiet grabbed the tail and sent his power through it. The tail literally exploded, dropping the angel and sending the howling demon flying. Quiet stood up slowly, blazing red eyes locked on his opponent, small legs firmly rooted on the ground. No… no running away. Leendonn fought with whomever had attacked them. He would do the same! Quiet opened his wings wide and took up a battle stance, allowing a clear ringing tone of challenge leave his chest:

 _Come, fiend! Face me now!_

Zaboul struggled to his feet, glaring daggers at his opponent. His body did not escape the angel's wrath: one tail was completely gone, while the other got mangled, its snake-head end clearly dead. His hindquarters had literal fissures crisscrossing his body, where the excess energy strained his essence to nigh-snapping point. As a result, he could no longer maintain his towering posture, his hind legs could barely hold his weight.

\- **You miserable little nothing!** – he bellowed, fire spewing from his mouth. – **You** ** _dare_** **challenge me?!**

Quiet did not even twitch from his pose, only his eyes grew narrower. The red gems in his tiara and wings shimmered with power. The part of him that had never fought before finally found his footing in the feeling of his inner structure being disturbed. That would **not** do, not by this inferior unworthy being. He opened one hand, demanding the demonic toxin to leave his body and gather above his fingers into an orb. The liquid obeyed, he held it up for the demon to see well, before crushing it with his fingers, erasing it from existence.

That was his answer.

Zaboul suddenly burst out in laughter, his hyena-like voice ringing across the whole place.

\- **You think you can withstand my power, you little flea?!** – he boomed, stomping his feet. – **I am the Lord of Wrath! I am Rage itself! I've crushed entire armies by myself! You. Are.** **Nothing** **!**

His body suddenly burst into flames, healing his injuries, enlarging him, twisting him further. His fur turned into molten lava, his feet into pillars of rocks, his tails into two whips of some kind of deadly poisonous plant. The flesh and skin quickly burnt away from his head, revealing the white skull filled with ebony-black teeth and white ghost fires filling the eye sockets.

Quiet took a shaky breath but did not run. If he was truly nothing, as his lack of a proper name indicated, then he had nothing to lose.

Zaboul tensed his legs, jaws opened wide with a battle roar as he jumped forward, his paws leaving the ground.

He crashed hard through an earth wall that sprung up right before him, and he stumbled to the ground, rolling over his head. He snapped his deadly jaws in every direction but by that time Quiet dashed out of the way, retreating among the stone slabs. He kept his eyes on the monster, his senses picking up the magical shockwave those stone legs sent into the ground. The angel flung himself from his spot a moment too soon, as stone spikes erupted from under his feet.

Great, the demon had many elements at his disposal, not just fire.

Well, two can play at that game.

Quiet reached out with his will, demanding that the world around him took up arms. Creatures moved around underground, and began crawling their way out. All around Zaboul, mounts of dirt shook and crumbled. Bones appeared, some still partially covered in dried flesh. A handful of them tried to reassemble themselves into something, but most chose the simpler option and flew at the demon like a myriad of bolts, thwacking him like hail. Quiet had no idea what all these bones were doing in this garden, but he didn't really stop to care.

\- **What are you?!** – Zaboul roared at his opponent, the onslaught of human remains effectively stopping him from using magic temporarily. – **A necromancer?! An elementalist?!**

Quiet did not want to answer him, yet a single clear tone left his mouth, seemingly on its own accord. It was a strange, multi-layered melody, simply meaning:

 _Everything_

Now where did that come from?

Quiet's focus failed as he pondered on this question. With a mighty roar, Zaboul sent shockwaves out of his body, washing the bones away and sending the angel flying. Quiet smacked into the wall of one of those nicer small buildings and crumbled to its base.

\- **_WRETCH!_** – Zaboul howled, throwing himself after his opponent. – **Delusional fool! A little nothing like you claiming that?!**

He grabbed Quiet with his right paw and smacked him hard into the ground, once, twice, thrice.

\- **I had forged the Burst of Wrath!** – _SMACK!_ – **I bathed it in the blood of a thousand of my kind to soak it with power!** – _SMACK!_ – **I was feared by the Seven Evils themselves!** – _SMACK!_ – **You have no hope of withstanding me! You are** ** _less_** **than nothing!**

Zaboul prepared to crush his victim into the stone-paved ground one final time, ending this ridiculous fight. However, the earth blew up under him and he felt something stab into his right shoulder with a merciless wet _splut_. A millisecond later maddening pain flooded his brain and he lost control over his right front leg.

Actually, he lost his **entire** right front leg.

An enormous lance of sheer diamond impaled him and tore off his limb, sending him rearing back with an earth-shattering scream of agony. Quiet fell to the ground, the severed leg spraying black blood all over the place, including him. He moved, pushed up his tattered body with his small shaky arms and raised his head. He slowly stood up, legs nearly buckling under him, wings drooped. Despite his miserable condition, he locked eyes with the demon defiantly, wiping the black blood out of his eyes, and his own shimmering one from his mouth.

Foam dripped from Zaboul's mouth, the ghost fires shrunk to small white dots of absolute madness in his eye-sockets. With one leg less, he too staggered a bit, struggling to find his equilibrium. He grew larger, darker, the molten lava skin hardening into layers of dark rocks. His mad rage only gave him strength, spurred by this little flea that dared stand up to him, even wound him twice now! His roar was choked by pain, intelligible words leaving him. Every single last fiber of his being and attention zeroed on his opponent, forgetting about everything else.

This angel dies **now**!

Zaboul lunged forward, fangs and claws extended. He didn't bother with magic, no. He would personally shed the accursed seraphim's bright blood!

His blow collided with a stone shield that formed before Quiet. The angel tumbled to the ground but he ordered the buckler to grow spikes and ram into the demon. It shattered against the hardened skin. The next swipe of the large paw got stuck on a thick root that bound the limb and smacked Zaboul into the ground with it. It got quickly incinerated, but it bought just enough time for Quiet to scramble out of the way and retreat.

Every inch of his body hurt, his hands trembled from fear and anger and the need to survive. He saw flashes of battle and a strange mirror-filled room of painful hooks and chains, and he figured these images would have flooded his mind by now, had it not been for his wild emotions. Quiet knew Leendonn was far away from here (and a part of him was grateful for his friend staying away from this beast), yet he caught himself helplessly crying his name as he retreated, hoping a miracle would happen. He blinked tears out of his eyes.

One of the long tails smacked into him and he flew, yet again, crashing through something hard and tumbling into a dark place with strange boxes and vases. The roof collapsed onto him, burying him under dust, wooden beams and tiles. His power from the start was abandoning him rapidly, Quiet could basically feel it slipping out of his grasp like water. The surroundings still rose to stop Zaboul but with less and less strength. The demon easily trampled all opposition, head wildly snapping from one side to the other, looking for his prey amidst the ruins.

Quiet saw his giant terrifying figure through a crack between his own makeshift tomb. The angel's anger was gone, and all that was left were a crushing exhaustion and an all-consuming terror, paralyzing him. He was weak, pathetic, less than nothing, as the demon had said. He wept in the crushing darkness, pleading for Leendonn in a small voice. He wanted his friend to hold him in arms, to hold his hand as they walked down on the road.

Quiet just wanted his friend.

Zaboul drew closer to his heap of rubble, slowly picking up on the scent of angelic blood.

At least Leendonn was safe, Quiet thought weakly. Safely far away from this monster. He struggled to keep his eyes open, even though a titanic need to just _sleep_ overwhelmed him. Zaboul turned towards him, now certain of his spot. Quiet let out one last mournful keen, knowing it was the last sound he would ever make.

His voice, however, was drowned out by the racket of a blinding glare, erupting from a shield. It filled the air around them, with such power that it sent a smaller shockwave forth. The wave cleared some of the clutter from Quiet's prison, giving him somewhat better vision but still keeping him hidden. Zaboul snorted in surprise, and turned around, looking behind him.

\- Do I have your attention now, filthy demon?!

Quiet's eyes grew wide, the crushing sleepiness evaporating from him. It was the huumann with the long blond hair, wicked weapons and mad eyes. She stood there, tall and proud, eyes kept on the huge demon before her. Next to her, stood an odd person that had nothing to do on the battlefield: he was clearly old, wrinkled and thin, he looked like a small breeze could drag him away. He wore a leather cap that emphasized his large ears sticking out to the side, mostly brown simple clothes and loose wide pants. Three enormous traveling bags were strapped around his waist, with multiple pockets each, some overflowing with jewels. His eyes were completely purple, with no irises or pupils.

The two humans stood far away, yet Quiet could pick up their aura faintly with his dwindling senses. The old fragile one radiated hunger, greed and jealousy, giving off the vibe that literally nothing was ever enough for him. The blond-haired huumann had the same malevolent air around her, like back on that big wooden thing, setting off all kinds of alarms in Quiet's mind. The angel knew he had to get away from here, but his body was simply too weak to move and crawl out from under the rubble.

\- **You** – Zaboul snarled, turning fully to the sudden guests.

\- You don't make yourself hard to find, do you? – Blondie said mockingly. – The proud Lord of Wrath is above hiding, isn't he?!

\- **You came here to die, mortal! I would not waste my breath upon words.**

\- On the contrary – Blondie shrugged, her aura expanding a bit. – I came to offer you a deal.

There was a brief but heavy pause. Quiet didn't even dare to breathe at that point. He didn't exactly understand what was going on, but he got the distinct feeling that this scene before him should have been playing out in a radically **different** way than mere friendly chit-chat.

\- **What manner of joke is this?!** – Zaboul spat foam onto the ground. – **The Hero of Sanctuary making deals with my kind?! Do you take me for a fool?!**

\- My _friend_ , she had persuaded me just _fine_ – spoke up the old huumann with a strange voice that often distorted on its own. – Is the words of the God of _Desire_ proof _enough_ for you?

\- **Bah, some gods you and your misbegotten kind are!** – Zaboul snorted. – **Cheap imitations, created by a mistake!**

\- _Now_ , that is just **_rude_** , my friend.

\- Enough, the both of you – Blondie barked angrily, flashing out her teeth that were fangs for a brief second. – Zaboul, Lord of Wrath, Sin Lieutenant of Azmodan, I have an offer for you. Leave this worthless nest of humans, and join my side. You will find far more glory and destruction that way than with your little _side project_.

\- **And why should I listen to a mere human?!**

\- Because this "mere human" promises a chance of the greatest war, with the greatest reward in the end – Blondie smiled, in a very wide and disturbing way. – By the end, none shall—

Zaboul spat a fireball at them that was absorbed by a force field shimmering into existence.

\- **You have interrupted my hunt, mortal! You dare speak to me with that tone and you believe I will listen to a single wretched word your worthless mouth utters?!** – he bellowed. – **You have come to your death, and you shall have it!**

\- Hunt for _whom_? – the old huumann frowned, but Zaboul was already on the move, pouncing at them with deadly force.

The two huumanns scattered, and the blond-haired one wiped out her burning flail, racking the demon's side with it. The hardened skin actually crumbled under her strike. Zaboul turned around rammed his head into her wide shield with such incredible force their surroundings rattled around them. The blond-haired huumann didn't even budge an inch at the collision. She flung one hand a burning hammer appeared, flying around her in circles. It battered Zaboul with hits and at its final, longest lap, it flew straight into Quiet's prison, exploding and sending the angel flying through the wall again.

Quiet rolled over the ground, too stunned to move. He was blissfully behind the cover of a small building so none could spot him right away. He heard the sound of battle from beyond the ruins. Zaboul was losing, and badly at that, if his roars of pain were anything to go by.

Mustering his last slivers of will, Quiet pushed himself up from the ground. He had to get away. Far away. Find Leendonn. That was all that mattered. Find him, stay with him.

With every inch of his body protesting with pain, Quiet dragged himself away from the battle, beaten, broken, and terribly afraid.

* * *

 **If there is one thing we have learnt about Inarius, is that he is fucking IMPOSSIBLE to kill. He can be beaten, defeated, banished to the deepest pits of Hell, tortured for eons, but never actually killed. Especially now that- Well, you'll see. ;)**

 **Diablo would be proud of him.**

 **Congrats to** **Miss Gems for figuring out the demon's identity so fast! :D You rock, girl! For those, who don't know who Zaboul is, I can't even fault you for that. He only ever appears in a single goddamn Item Description of the Burst of Wrath legendary weapon.  
**

 **"** ** _Zaboul, the Lord of Wrath, forged this weapon after the Prime Evils declared they would not invade the world of Sanctuary. A thousand demons died in the process._ " - That's all, folks! Everything else you see in this story is my addition.**

 **I'd like to thank the tracks "Boss Battle", "Final Breath" and "Funeral Dirge" from the OST of Child of Light for this chapter. I can highly recommend listening to it on YT, even if you don't play with the game.**

 **Small trivia: originally I have wanted Quiet to win that fight. But then I thankfully stopped, thought for a moment, and stumbled upon the very simple question of "Why the HELL would that toddler be winning against a demon warlord?!". See, cupcakes, it is good to sometimes stop the hype wagon and think things through.**

 **See you hopefully soon here, with the final chapter of the first Act! ;) Keep being awesome!**

 **REPLY GUEST REVIEW**

 **PaulM: My man, good to have you back on board! I missed you! ^^ Don't worry, life's more important than a silly fanfic online. Hope everything's fine back at your place. Glad you still like my story! Fear not, this story shall forge on, even if with smaller-bigger pauses at times. **


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter 13_**

The iron claws sank into the stone floor on the spot where Lyndon stood a second ago.

The scoundrel vaulted over the railing of the gallery, plummeting into the main hall of the house, rolling over his head upon landing. He got up, eyes kept on Rea, who pursued him with the same madness and relentless as the members of the Coven had in the past. She swiped and missed again, Lyndon plunged his dagger into her enormous arm, but she barely seemed to notice.

\- You have always made things unnecessarily hard and complicated, Lyn! – Rea shouted angrily, her original deadly calmness finally gone. – Only you are left, and then I'll be free finally! Why don't you just lie down and let me kill you? For my sake?

Lyndon jumped and stomped into her face, sending her staggering backwards. Her nose broke and blood began flowing from it.

\- You killed them! – the scoundrel accused her in a hysterical voice, while trying to find an opening between the demonic limbs with his dagger. – Why?! _Why_?! They **loved** you! Edlin would have done anything for you! Maya and Eric were healthy and clever, the most beautiful children a mother could ask for! How could you do this?!

\- You have ruined me! All of you! – Rea shrieked and struck, missing the scoundrel only by a hair's length.

Lyndon's sixth sense was failing him, it could barely get through the storm of wild emotions in his head. Not that the scoundrel could have done anything against that. He just wanted this _thing_ to die, no matter the danger or the cost! He attacked recklessly, and only his combat-experience saved him from being shredded into ribbons in the first five minutes.

\- I should have listened to my father, instead of my foolish heart! – Rea went on, spitting blood everywhere, eyes twinkling madly. – Marry a noble, a rich trader, anyone **but** the nameless poor city guard! My life would have been perfect! But no! All of you are shackles, all of you dragged me away from that future! You have all ruined me! But I **will** erase you lot from my life. Then I can be myself again.

\- You will never be yourself again! You will rot in Hell, bitch! – Lyndon screamed at him.

Never in his life had he felt like this before. This all-consuming need to kill this monster before him. There were no backup plans, no escape routes, or secondary motives. Just kill this murderous bitch and soak the floor with her blood!

He flew forward, dagger held high, and Rea swiped at him. This one time, his sixth sense could not get through the hysteria, and Lyndon was knocked aside, his right side shallowly torn up by the nails. He crashed into something hard and metallic, his head ringing from the collision. Pain exploded into him and he reached out blindly, fingers closing around some sort of sheet. He flung it and the next second Rea's demonic scream filled the air.

Forcing his eyes open, Lyndon realized he was lying among the parts of Edlin's armor which he knocked off of its display. He had managed to grab one of the plates and throw it like a frisbee, straight into Rea's neck. The monster staggered back, her neck halfway cut through, blood spraying from the wound. She struggled to pull the armor piece out of there. Lyndon struggled to his feet, one arm pressed to his stinging side, feeling his own blood soaking his coat there. The pain helped him focus, his emotions are somewhat forced back by the overwhelming power of the survival instinct, awakened by his injuries. He saw clearly that Rea was **not** dying: instead of collapsing and bleeding out on the spot, hopefully drowning into her own blood, the bitch remained standing, giant hands grabbing after the armor piece, iron nails racking her own clothes and skin in the process.

Lyndon turned around and ignoring his protesting side, hauled himself up to the gallery again, running deeper into the house.

\- Zaboul, Lord of Wrath has given me power! – he heard Rea scream in a choked, almost bubbling voice. – I will have your head, Lyndon! I will skin you alive!

Lord of Wrath. The demon who must be behind Kingsport's downfall.

Lyndon desperately tried to recall the precise floor plan of the house. He couldn't allow himself to be cornered in a room, he could only run into those that had more than one doors. There were only few of those… and one of them was the kitchen. Lyndon ran in there, skidding across the stone floor that was covered in water and blood dripping out of the meat on the table. He smacked into the counter, gasping for air.

For a brief but dreadful moment he stopped and looked around. Human remains everywhere, bones, meat, a few chopped off limbs. He could no longer deny what he saw. He breathed, nearly retching from the heavy odors. Still, he forced himself to focus on the carnage and use the sight to give power to his rage and fear. The initial grief that flooded him was useless, he had to force it back.

Rea had killed others, not just his family. She hunted innocent people down in this confusion and fed on them.

Edlin had always said to think in small steps and always focus mostly on the goal right before you. Lyndon regained his footing through the knowledge of his immediate task:

Rea had to die today for all this.

And Lyndon would deliver, even if it was the last thing he'd ever do. He owed this much, not just to Edlin and his children, but to the Seven and Kingsport as well.

The scoundrel grabbed a large knife from the counter and dual-wielded it with his dagger as he heard heavy footsteps outside on the corridor. He bolted, but not for the door in which he came, but to a side one, mostly used by servants in the past. He tore it open and ran into the empty pantry, pressing himself close to the entrance leading to the corridor. He listened, and waited.

The wide paws stomped by his door. Lyndon waited for a few moments then exploded from the pantry behind Rea, slashing her back with both daggers before flinging himself backwards, away from the defensive swipe of the hands. Rea screeched and spun around, blindly striking out at her foe who was far away at that point.

Lyndon stared into the face of true horror, something not even Diablo could have ever conjured up, no matter how hard he would have tried.

His former one true love shambled towards him, eyes still gleaming madly. Her face was somewhat shredded by her own nails when she had tried to get the armor piece out of her body. Her head was fallen to the side like a ragdoll, half of her neck cut straight through, the slimy tubes of the respiratory tract and the gullet peeking out occasionally. Blood practically flowed from her neck, soaking her entire upper body, leaving a horrible trail behind her. Her blue dress was quickly turning red now that she had two fresh cuts on her back. Rea should have been dead but she kept standing her ground.

Lyndon raised his weapons.

\- You killed your family for what? – he hissed. – Because we couldn't make your life perfect?! Because Edlin was imprisoned against his will and couldn't provide for you?! I've sent you money, every last damn dime I could spare to help you out! I've never abandoned you! None of us did!

\- I don't need anything from you, Lyndon – Rea choked, pointing an iron nail at him. – That money was only good for attracting a small entertainment. You are no better than Edlin! Nameless orphans, destined to ruin everything you touch! Just look at me!

She lunged forward but Lyndon's sixth sense was clear now and he easily avoided her. She was no warrior, he realized. Never was. Despite her condition, she had no experience in a real fight, unlike he did. Lyndon latched onto this knowledge to somehow keep himself together.

\- This is all your fault! All yours! – Rea shrieked, swiping blindly at him. – You whisked me away from that ball all those years ago and introduced me to Edlin! It was all your fault that I fell in love with that man and married him. Your fault that I bore two wretches for him. You and Edlin ruined me forever!

\- Wretches – Lyndon echoed, parrying one blow with his weapons. – Maya and Eric… are they only _wretches_ to you?! They were your children! Your blood!

He landed a cut on her chest then retreated quickly before she could retaliate. Their fighting led them back into the gallery over the main hall. Lyndon bumped into the railing.

\- Wretches, shackles! – Rea spat blood. – Binding me to this miserable life. But erasing all of you from it will make everything better!

\- So you made a pact with a demon – Lyndon hissed. – And doomed all of Kingsport to this chaos.

\- I had to torture and kill quite a few mages before they finally complied and summoned him for me – Rea coughed. – He gave me power!

Lyndon's eyes flashed up in green and he flew forward, suddenly appearing behind Rea. The monster turned around but her arms were sliced off by the daggers covered in green light. The horrible limbs hit the ground with a wet _thud_ and her screams of pain were cut short by a brutal kick in the chest that sent her flying over the railings and smack into the main hall's floor below.

Lyndon jumped after her, landing among the armor pieces of Edlin. He sheathed his dagger, threw the knife away and reached down for the city guard pike, eyes not leaving Rea's form a few meters away from him. The witch somehow struggled to her feet, her visage now completely ruined and covered in blood.

If Lyndon tried hard enough, he could almost convince himself that thing was not his former love.

\- He turned you into a monster that slaughtered her own husband and children! And now he is unleashed upon Kingsport – he said slowly, accusingly, raising the pike and channeling the same green power into it without noticing. – All those people suffer and die because of you.

\- No… ultimately, all of this is because of you – Rea whispered, grinning through the blood.

Lyndon flashed, appearing straight before the monster. He impaled her through the abdomen and smacked her into the ground so hard the floor cracked all around them. Rea screamed but it was cut short by the pike which exploded from the too much energy. Lyndon staggered back, feet slipping under him faster and faster until he smacked into the stone wall and slid into its base, staring at the mangled corpse before him.

And just like that, it was all over.

Lyndon heaved, unable to breathe properly. He was covered in blood, his own and Rea's. He pulled his knees up, raised his shaking hands to cover his face and he screamed into his palms from the top of his lungs. The dam finally broke and every last bit of grief, anger, terror of this last couple of days came pouring out in the form of his choked howling and tears. He curled up into a tight ball and screamed, nails sinking into his head from misery. His voice echoed among the stone walls of the abandoned mansion.

Minutes have passed, perhaps hours, before he finally ran out of strength and air to howl, and could only whimper and gasp through his tears. Lyndon struggled to force some air into his lungs, but he could barely do it. The shock and hysteria finally conquered him completely, and he just wanted to die right there and then to escape their terror.

He had killed his own family. He was all alone in this world.

\- Leendonn?

The small voice was like a hard slap across his face. Lyndon snapped his head up from his hands, staring towards the entrance with a hunted look in his eyes. At first, he couldn't process what he saw: a small child-like form stood on the doorstep. Was it Maya? Eric? Did one of them escape Rea's madness after all?

\- Leendonn!

The little child limped forward and Lyndon finally recognized the bottomless darkness, the white hair and the drooped wings of pure light.

\- Quiet – he whispered, kneeling up from his position. – What—what has happened to you?!

The little angel was in horrible shape. His clothes torn and covered in dust, splinters and some kind of dark dried liquid. Through the holes, his pale shimmering skin was covered in cuts, bruises, ugly purple-colored spots and patches. There was a bite-mark on his shoulder, and bright blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His legs trembled and finally buckled under him, and he fell forward, smacking into the blood-covered floor.

Lyndon jumped to his feet and ran there, gently scooping the angel up into his arms.

\- K—kvaiiettt – Quiet struggled. – D-deemonn… bad…

His now dim red eyes closed for a few seconds. Lyndon cuddled him close to his chest.

\- I'm sorry—I'm so sorry! – he stammered through the tears. – I shouldn't have left you behind! I should have never brought you here.

Quiet placed a tiny hand on his chest and mumbled with closed eyes.

\- Leendonn arriyt… Kvaiett happy…

Lyndon gulped, one hand desperately trying to wipe the tears away. He pressed the angel close to him, placing a sloppy wet kiss on the top of his head.

He wasn't alone after all.

Not even sparing a final glance at Rea's mangles corpse, Lyndon left the house, trying to think of the fastest way to get back to the brothel. He limped out to the main street, only now realizing just how exhausted he was, physically and emotionally.

What he saw stunned him. People on the street were crying and hugging each other, instead of pointlessly fighting. They shouted words of praise and gratitude into the air, chanting "The demon is dead! Long live the Hero of Sanctuary!". Nobody paid attention to Lyndon and Quiet, they didn't even really stand out of the crowd with their appearance, as everyone was pretty much beaten up. City guards shook their pikes at the sky, shouting Johanna's name from the top of their lungs and many civilians joined them. In the distance, Lyndon thought he could make out the hazy contours of a crowd carrying a figure on their shoulders.

The scoundrel gulped and turned onto one of the side streets, zigzagging among the many buildings. The demon was dead, Kingsport freed. Lyndon had a horrible suspicion that Quiet survived the encounter with that Zaboul only because Johanna interrupted. Did she see him? Did she know they were here? Lyndon knew if she came after them now, they would have no hope of escaping.

On the way back to the brothel, Quiet fell asleep from the constant rocking, fingers curled around Lyndon's shirt. He looked peaceful and at ease despite his condition. Lyndon firmly held him as he climbed back into their room through the backyard window. He placed the angel on the bed then scouted the nearby rooms for anything he could use. He returned with bandages and healing salves. Washing off the blood from him and Quiet at least partially into the long cold bathing water, he quickly bandaged his charge up as best as he could, hoping that it would be effective on angels.

\- Leendonn saad – Quiet mumbled, having woken up from the quick bath.

\- I—don't want to talk about it, Quiet – Lyndon gulped, keeping his eyes on the small arm he was tending to. – But I'm glad you are still alive. No more splitting up, I promise.

\- Prromisss?

\- I promise.

\- Gud – Quiet slightly nodded, looking out at the window. – Muunn pretty – he commented half-heartedly.

\- It is very pretty, yes – Lyndon agreed.

\- W—v—world no pretty. World badd.

\- Yes, today was… very bad, for the both of us – the scoundrel sighed.

\- Leendonn oww? – Quiet turned back to him, gesturing at his side.

Lyndon glanced at his soaked coat. He had completely forgotten about it, to be honest. The injury explained his light-headedness. He would have to treat himself as well.

\- It's… not that bad – he shook his head. – I will bandage it and it will be fine.

\- Huumanns baadd – Quiet frowned.

\- Some humans are bad, yes. Like Rea. Or me – Lyndon said, his voice choking at the last words.

He realized he was crying again, and reached to wipe the tears off.

 _…_ _ultimately, all of this is because of you…_

Quiet gently petted him on the forehead.

\- Leendonn no badd – he chirped, trying to sound upbeat. – Leendonn fr—f—friend!

\- If only things were that simple, Quiet – Lyndon sniffled, smiling sourly. – Thank you, though. You are a great friend too. But not all humans are bad. We—we were just very unlucky these days.

Quiet slightly frowned at him, didn't look all that convinced.

\- Come on. We must go – Lyndon stood up, quickly undressing and tending to his own wounds. – Johanna is in the city. She cannot see us.

\- J-Johhhhana badd – Quiet said, with the outmost certainty. – Big badd.

Lyndon glanced at his charge.

-… Yes – he admitted. – She is very bad now. Wasn't always like that. She was good once.

\- Gud… badd? – Quiet gestured as if drawing an imaginary path between the two words into the air.

\- People change, Quiet – Lyndon sighed deeply as he dressed up again. – Sometimes for the worst. Angels are very much the same. – he added, remembering the once supposedly revered and beloved Archangel of Wisdom.

Quiet seemed to ponder deeply on these words, even when Lyndon lifted him into his arms. The scoundrel left behind yet another money bag for Bertha, with a little note in which he apologized for leaving so soon and wished her the best, then slipped out to the backyard.

As Kingsport celebrated their savior, those two beaten and ravaged wanderers left its boundaries, slipping through the gates, melting into the dead of night.

* * *

 _ **END OF ACT I**_

 **'Twas a fine journey up to this point, made even better by your reviews along the way. Thank you so much, and I can't wait to keep going. ;) You guys are all amazing, and thank you for putting up with my pauses and random af twists at times.**

 **Now, I believe I need another pause before I begin Act II. If you wish to read my reasons in detail, go ahead below. :)**

So, as I have mentioned in the beginning, I have decided in what "method" I wish to write this story. That method I like to call "Wing it Till the Cows Come Home", and it's actually very simple: I have a really basic storyline pinned down so it is continuous and makes sense, but the rest is writing itself as I go forward. There were many scenes in Act I that I didn't plan for, Meshif Salavan with the seven figurines, the sea monster, and even Quiet's darker side against the pirates are among them. It is a kind of freedom I like to use for my fanfictions, and the end results tend to be always far better than what I have originally planned. As I can see from your reactions, it has paid off well here too.

Act II is still "in the making", so to speak. I have a few idea-fractures for it, including finally reaching Tyrael in Westmarch (originally I planned that to happen in Act I), but the core problem/conflict of this arc still eludes me. I have to pin those down before I can improvise the rest freely and without fear of fucking up the story line. I'm not sure when that will be, maybe a few days, maybe months (University's been a bitch lately with its exams). I thank you for your patience in advance.

 **TL;DR: I'm not sure when the planning of Act II will be ready, until then this story is probably going to go silent. Thanks for understanding!**

 **The #1 rule is still relevant though: THIS STORY IS NOT DEAD UNTIL _I SAY_ IT IS IN AN AUTHOR'S NOTE. Unless you see that bitch pop up among the chapters, keep calm and channel Auriel's Hope. ;) I have a lot of ideas planned, old and recent characters shown up, maybe even one or two OCs along the road. Not sure how many Acts will be there, four or more or less, I just wish to stay true to Diablo's structure with this idea. There is a lot to discover and chart, obscure and hidden lore details to dig up and place into the puzzle (like Zaboul, for instance).**

 **Special thanks**

 **To everyone who read and reviewed this story. Your comments propelled me forward, and I'm eternally grateful for them. You cupcakes are the best, I couldn't ask for a better audience.**

 **Miss Gems, you act true to your name. ^^ Your long reviews, and constant brainstorming about what would come next were a treasure to read, they always made my day. And two fanarts from you! They really melted my heart! Here are the links to them (this dumbass system is getting smarter with the censorship though...):**

 ** **fishyfiash . tumblr image /** 169232735985**

 **fishyfiash . tumblr image / 166621424950**

 **Thank you so much, you are very generous! ^^**

 **See you cupcakes around, and keep being awesome!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Eeeyyy guys! Long time no see! :D**

* * *

 ** _-ACT II-_**

 ** _Chapter 14_**

Being the foster father of an angel was weird, Lyndon concluded.

The last few weeks had been both strange and quite uneventfully, by the mercy of whatever gods were out there. It had been strange because of two things. First, Johanna seemed to have lost their track somehow. Both Lyndon and Quiet had been on the verge of collapsing after their miserable night at Kingsport, they could barely get to the next small town with an inn, before passing out for over a day. Yet, not only did the Crusader and her group not kick their room's door down and slaughtered them in their sleep, nobody in the village even saw them. Maybe Johanna did not assume that they would stop at such an insignificant place?

Lyndon could only hope.

The second strange thing was Quiet's sudden growth. The angel, as always, seemed more energetic with the buzzing of life around him, even his injuries healed faster. Noticing that, Lyndon had decided to stay a bit longer in Duncraig, their next destination after the little nameless village. It was a bigger town with a somewhat busier life, and Quiet seemed to enjoy it. After his wounds sealed, the little angel suddenly gained height, and not even a small amount at that: before, he was barely around 70-80 centimeters, but almost over a few days he grew to around 110 centimeters, quickly outgrowing his old clothes and the backpack which he used to travel in. The red gems in his wings became more prominent, his white hair longer, the little golden wings on his tiara more detailed and somewhat larger, their "feathers" turning into that same red ruby as the center. Why and how this happened exactly, Lyndon had no idea whatsoever.

Also, Quiet seemed to have developed some kind of illusion or mirage around himself, as literally everyone who saw them, assumed he was a child.

\- Such a beautiful son you have, mister! – one such nice lady commented to them on the streets. – And that hair! If I didn't know it was blonde, I would say it was gold! Marvelous.

Quiet seemed just as confused as Lyndon but they quickly figured it was for the best, and didn't question their stroke of luck. Lyndon bought a new set of clothes to his charge, similar to his old ones, as well as a larger backpack. He had found one that could be folded to be smaller or bigger, depending on the need, and quickly switched to it from that old shaggy thing he had been dragging around.

With those things taken care of, and feeling rested at long last, the pair set out towards Westmarch. Johanna was still nowhere to be seen or heard of, which caused them to take on a more leisurely pace. During the travels, Lyndon began teaching Quiet all kinds of things. The little angel's ability to mimic sounds improved and his knowledge of the language grew rapidly, even if it was still not perfect. Lyndon also began teaching him other skills, such as climbing, sneaking, and basic combat with a dagger.

He also tried to oversee the developing weird powers of the angel as much as he could. Quiet was carefully but adamantly testing out his abilities, twisting every nearby object into different shapes and even materials. At first he quickly tired out and took long naps in Lyndon's new backpack, but as he practiced more and more, his stamina grew as well as his grasp on his powers.

Lyndon too practiced his own abilities. He had no idea how to cause that abnormal strength to show up, so he mostly focused on teleportation, or blink, or whatever the hell to call that. It too drained him of strength at first, but eventually he built up some resistance to it. His aim was garbage though. Constantly missing his target, sometimes by a few meters, sometimes he ended up a good 10-minute walk away from the destination. Once he tried to blink to the top of a nearby tree and instead smacked face-first into the trunk, breaking a tooth in the process. Thankfully Quiet was pretty good at his own magic by then, and he managed to regrow it for him. Landing on his feet was another problem. Lyndon always staggered after blinking, and if the ground was not perfectly flat, he often fell over even. The direction in which he was facing after blinking was weird too. Sometimes he kept his original pose, sometimes he arrived looking in a completely different direction and it left him disoriented. He had no idea what caused this, or how to control it.

\- How the hell do mages make it look so easy?! – he grumbled angrily as he peeled himself up from the mud yet again from a failed attempt at trying to blink across a smaller stream.

Quiet chuckled slightly at the sight and promptly grew a bridge of pure ground across the water, crossing it with ease.

\- Show-off – Lyndon snorted at his charge.

\- Leendonn, you funny – Quiet laughed.

His pronunciation was getting better, but for some reason, he refused to let go of "Leendonn". The scoundrel didn't really mind it, to be honest, he had gotten used to it long ago.

The almost unfamiliar peace that has settled onto them was greatly welcomed, as neither really escaped Kingsport's terror. Quiet often woke with a start in the middle of the night, screeching, trying to escape from Zaboul's charge into Lyndon's hug. The scoundrel himself fell sullen, silent and smiled very little. Mostly he just felt somber and indifferent with no actual reason, sometimes at night he couldn't sleep because his mind kept going back to the monstrous bitch Rea had become and the words she had spewed from her half-cut-through neck. Other times, he remained awake because of the nightmares as well. He kept on thinking whether Kingsport's terror really was **his** fault. Could he be held responsible, just because he fell in love with that young lady at that ball all those years ago? Or maybe he should have seen the signs before it all went to hell?

A part of Lyndon knew that no matter how logically he could refute these questions, a small sense of doubt and guilt would always remain in him. Maybe he really **is** responsible. Maybe he **should** have seen the signs. In order to distract himself from these thoughts, he finally began reading Cain's codex. Every night, as they got ready to make camp and go to sleep, Lyndon would pull it out and read certain sections over, mostly what caught his eye. Sometimes he also used it to teach Quiet how to read.

\- A—aaaa-Au-ll—rriel – the little angel mumbled, struggling with one of the titles. – Ark—Arch…

\- Archangel of Hope – Lyndon gently helped him, reading things out loud while following along with his finger on the paper. – "Auriel is the most beloved of all angels. It is she who leads the sweet chorus of the High Heavens. She is said to be at the center of this chorus and to be the most lighthearted member of the Angiris Council".

Quiet absentmindedly placed a small hand on the opposite page with a drawing, lost deep in thought. Lyndon had to admit, as he poured over all the illustrations, that Deckard was an amazing drawer. He could capture scenes and beings in the most prominent form. His illustrations about the Greater Evils were so detailed, Quiet was clearly distressed by them (Mephisto especially scared him, strangely), so Lyndon quickly jumped to the topic of the High Heavens, to calm his charge down. Here, the illustrations were clearly guesswork: why they looked quite impressive, Cain could not possibly know how they really looked like. Auriel's drawing was far from the truth too: it was clearly a female angel, but her armor didn't match, she had a helmet and Al'maiesh was worn like a scarf.

\- Pretty – Quiet said softly, stroking the picture.

\- She is even more beautiful in real life – Lyndon nodded, smiling ever so slightly. – Did you know I met her? I helped rescuing her once!

Quiet tilted his head at the scoundrel, eyes wide and curious.

\- There was this big demon. Really huge, and ugly as sin – Lyndon went on gesturing widely. – I, Johanna, Kormac and Eirena fought it with all we've got. I danced around, trying to evade its vicious strikes, while I've blinded him with the dust a dozen times. Eventually we beat it, and managed to rescue Auriel from the prison the demon made for her.

\- Auriel fine?

\- Thankfully she was. And she was also very grateful. She even gave us her blessing.

\- Leendonn, you a-are strong! – Quiet purred contently, snuggling closer to his charge.

\- My blinding powder did save the others from a horrible injury occasionally, that is true – Lyndon patted him on the head.

When Quiet was sleeping, Lyndon would often read sections about the demons and the Burning Hells, not even knowing what he was looking for. Zaboul maybe? He couldn't find him in the book. He might have been looking for a possible explanation for Johanna's madness. Did one of the Evils, or the Prime Evil itself, possessed her?! Lyndon could only utter a soft prayer that was not the case. He wasn't sure he… or Sanctuary for that matter… could handle the fate of yet another Leah. That loss had been far too painful already.

\- "Sanctuary, the Mortal Realm" – Lyndon mumbled under his breath as one night he was yet again reading instead of sleeping. – "Inarius and the Worldstone."

Huh… wasn't this "Worldstone" thing what made the ancient Nephalem's children weak, according to Cain? And with its destruction now new Nephalem could arise.

The scoundrel sighed. He still couldn't really fully believe that. Maybe he was just a mystic, or a mortal gifted with a kind of magic.

Refocusing on the book, he noted the odd picture on the opposite page: it showed a majestic male angel (face hidden in the usual hood of course) with a hideous female demon, strangely in a loving embrace instead of locked in combat. Oh yeah, Cain and Tyrael spoke of this as well: angels and demons actually fell in love once Sanctuary had been created, and their kids were the first Nephalem.

\- "It is difficult for my mind to fully grasp, but the legends tell us that Inarius and Lilith fell in love. Incredibly that single alliance would alter the course of the war, of reality itself—indeed, of all existence. Inarius and Lilith both pledged themselves to the other and vowed to escape the Eternal Conflict."

Oh, what a man would not do for a pretty face at times, Lyndon smirked to himself. He looked over the pair again. He could imagine the angel actually loving the demon, since those beings really were capable of such emotions. Afterall, Tyrael literally plunged face-first into mortality (and into the catacombs of an old cathedral in the meantime) when he was ordered to keep himself away from humanity. Giving the middle finger to that jerk Imperius, and the entire Council in such a spectacular way… Lyndon, as a man who didn't really follow most regulations either, could respect that greatly. But the demoness… could demons actually love anything besides power and the suffering of others? Were they really capable of that, especially a monster who was apparently the kid of Hatred itself (however that had happened)? Lyndon's sense, honed by years of experience in womanizing, tingled with suspicion. What if Lilith only used Inarius' love to get what she wanted… maybe that Worldstone thing even? If the scoundrel really had to be honest, he **himself** had used this very tactic countless times in the past.

Great, even more reasons for him to feel like shit.

Lyndon wistfully reminisced, as he closed the book and put it away, of the siege of Bastion's Keep, when they were finally bringing the fight to Azmodan himself. Lyndon had declared back then that he would stop with every sinful hobby and be "straight and narrow" from now on. It was just spectacular how much he had failed in that promise. Sure, he left his womanizer ways behind completely, but he still couldn't stop himself from pickpocketing the occasional unsuspecting bystander in those last towns they had been in. He had always made sure, though, to only target rich-looking people. The poor had enough to worry about, anyway.

\- Maybe I **should** straighten myself out completely – he mumbled, glancing down at the peacefully sleeping Quiet.

Lyndon couldn't believe he was bringing an angel up. How surreal was that? Still, he realized he was indescribably grateful for having the small being of light around in these dark times, no matter what happened. Back in Kingsport, when he had seen Quiet so beaten up, that was when he realized just how much he cared about this little child.

Placing a quick kiss on the top of the angel's head, Lyndon too finally snuggled into his makeshift bed and drifted to sleep.

oooOOOooo

Servita, a simple agricultural town located close to Bramwell, had always been under the rule of a larger noble family, and it showed: it had no market to speak of, most people going to the lord's own land or to Bramwell for trade, and no inn either. The best it could offer was a pub, which was fine with Lyndon who didn't really plan to stay her either. He had planned to stop for a short breather, then go straight to Bramwell. Worse come to worst, they would sleep one more time in the wild between the two towns. With Johanna off their backs for some reason, that wasn't much of a bad news, really.

The pub was the largest building in town, and it still managed to look like a stable at best. Lyndon was actually impressed it was still standing with the condition it was in.

\- Wat's a "pup"? – Quiet asked as they walked towards it, hand in hand.

\- Pu **b** – Lyndon corrected him. – It is a place where grown-ups go to drink alcohol, have a chat and relax a bit. Although it can be very dangerous, especially when some drink too much alcohol and get drunk. Fights can break out then over the smallest things.

Quiet looked back at the building with a small frown. Lyndon glanced at his charge, picking up on his disapproval. It was strange, lately Quiet seemed to be incredibly critical towards humans and the scoundrel had no idea where this came from. He would have to be careful to keep that in check.

Lyndon silently uttered a grateful prayer for the angel's mirage as they stepped inside the building and pretty much nobody paid any mind to them. There were few people inside to begin with: it was the middle of the day and most patrons were probably still working on the fields. Only two men sat the tables that were farthest from each other, one of them looking like the resident alcoholic of the village.

\- Eyyy, nice boyy ya got there – the man slurred at them. – Ya gonna sell him as a he-whore?

Lyndon didn't even look in his direction as he gently guided Quiet to the counters.

\- Shut the hell up, Bert – barked the barkeeper.

\- I m—mean it. Boy looks like a lovely sex d-doll – Bert went on, grinning from ear to ear. – Ya gotta start'em young.

Lyndon's eyes flashed up in green at this. Slavery, especially sex slavery was a subject he had always loathed with his entire being. Even back in his womanizer ways, he had made sure to only go to women who chose this profession on their **own** accord.

\- I said shut up!

\- I can ffind a good be—bidder, mate. 50-50 on the price, waddayasay?

Lyndon gently set the confused Quiet up onto one of the bar chairs, then not even thinking completely through what he was planning, he flashed onto the alcoholic's table, glaring down at him with his blazing green eyes, boots firmly planted on the wooden surface. Lyndon grabbed the hiccupping wreck by the collar of his ragged shirt and lifted him with one arm as if he weighted nothing.

\- You will not talk about my son that way, you wretch – he said in a dangerously cool voice, his free hand tucked away in one of his pockets as if he was making a small talk.

\- I told you to shut up – the bartender mumbled disapprovingly.

\- I will break every last bone in your body if you utter a single more word, do you understand? – Lyndon said.

\- S-sure, mate – Bert managed to choke out, helplessly grabbing at the arm that held him captive.

Lyndon forcefully set him back down on his seat, then flashed again, arriving perfectly onto the bar stool, facing the bartender. The green fire extinguished in his eyes, and he asked for a beer.

\- Leendonn, you smarrrt – Quiet blinked up to him happily. – What is "sson"?

\- A son is the male child of an adult – Lyndon explained readily. – Why do you ask?

-… You said "son" to the ugly huuman.

Wait, he did?!

Lyndon blinked, his brain finally fully processing everything. He **did** refer to Quiet as his son! Not only that, but he **perfectly** executed two flashes and produced yet another moment of supernatural strength.

Weird.

\- I'm…

\- Here you go, mate – grumbled the bartender and finally handed him the flask of beer.

\- Bert's a regular here? – Lyndon asked nonchalantly, holding the cup for Quiet to sniff it, smiling slightly at the angel's grimace.

\- Aye, poor idiot – the bartender shook his head. – He lost his field when Lord Bayor decided to build a hunting palace atop it. Couldn't stand back up on his feet since then, as you can see.

\- He isn't really making an effort – Lyndon commented.

\- Under this noble's rule? I cannot blame him – the bartender snorted. – Feels like nothing we do really matters all that much. We never know when that asshole decides to play king.

\- Amiable fellow, that Lord Bayor.

\- His father had been a good man, may he rest in peace. But the brat's no true noble or leader. Unpredictable idiot, I say. Not a month ago, the whole village had to play circus for him and a couple of guests in his court. It was a disaster.

Lyndon didn't want to deal with it, he really didn't. But an old habit inside him woke up, and he just couldn't withstand the temptation.

\- So this Bayor fellow… he lives nearby? – he asked nonchalantly.

\- Aye, just follow the widest road out of the village and you get there – the bartender waved at the door. – Why?

\- Oh, just making sure to avoid him once we leave here.

\- Wise decision, sonny. You're better off not knowing him at all.

Lyndon nodded as a thanks and glanced at Quiet, who was busy making the wooden plank of the counter sprout new sprigs with buds. The scoundrel gently petted him on the head as a mute warning, before quickly finishing his beer and paying for it.

\- Leendonn? – Quiet asked as they stepped out onto the streets once more.

\- Yes?

\- What is "ssekkss"?

Lyndon needed a moment of pure concentration in order to stop himself from marching back inside and punching that alcoholic wreck through the wall for this one.

\- It's, uhm… an adult-thing. You don't need to worry about it – he quickly said, dragging Quiet along. – Now… how about we go on a short adventure tonight, hm?

\- Adventure?

\- We will trick some mean humans and make sure they don't even see us.

Quiet excitedly flapped his wings behind his cape.

* * *

 **It's good to be back! Thank you everyone for your patience! Although this update would have gone up a whole lot earlier, but for some godforsaken reason, the website did not allow me to upload ANYTHING here. Can't say whether it was something on my end or theirs, but it seemed to be fixed now!**

 **As a small way to commemorate the beginning of Act II, I've decided to upload two chapters at once. ;) Enjoy! Also, hopefully I can put together a small sketch-dumb about Act I on DA, so I'm probably gonna post a link to them as well at a later time.**

 **Also, new cover image, yay! I plan to do that during every new Act. :) Not sure if I stick with this one, but I'm pretty happy with it.**


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter 15_**

Robbing a noble's estate with an angel at the brain age of 7 as your partner in crime sounded like a terrible idea, but thankfully Lyndon was above such petty concerns.

The estate was pretty much impossible to miss once they walked some thirty minutes from the village's borders. It was located on a small island in the middle of a river that barely qualified for the title, it was so narrow. Two drawbridges led to either banks, and the entire island was built in, the stone walls following its shores faithfully. It couldn't be for sure, but Lyndon guessed the inner courtyard was wide and empty, with only a few smaller houses pushed against the tall walls: the residence, the chapel, the stables and other service buildings. This estate looked old enough to be built in the old-fashioned way.

Lyndon and Quiet hid in a nearby small patch of trees and bushes that so far survived the noble's building and furniture-carving orders.

\- Leendonn, what we do? – the little angels asked, small and weak wings fluttering from excitement.

\- What **will** we do – Lyndon corrected him. – First, we will wait for the night. Then, when it is dark, we are going to sneak inside, past all the guards and other people. We will find the little box the noble keeps all of his money in, then we grab it and leave. Sounds good?

\- We—wa—will they no see us?

\- If we are clever and fast, they won't. But we will need to be very quiet and careful. You will need to keep your wings hidden.

Immediately the tendrils of red-yellow light disappeared under the cape and Quiet eagerly jumped up and down.

\- Adventure! – he chirped happily.

\- It is going to be fun – Lyndon grinned at him. – But for now, I say we take a nap. There is still some time until sunset.

\- Do no want to sleep – Quiet mumbled, no doubt puffing up his invisible cheeks.

\- How about we read, hm? – Lyndon asked nonchalantly, lying down on his makeshift bed and pulling out Cain's codex.

Quiet happily snuggled up to him to that offer, curiously blinking at the pages that flipped fast before his eyes.

\- Imperius, Archangel of Valor – Lyndon snorted. – Oh this guy. I just llllove this guy.

\- Imperius baadd?

\- Not bad like a demon, but yes, he is very annoying. And angry, like, all the time.

 _And a total ungrateful piece of shit, to be honest._

\- Why izz he angry?

\- Not sure. He was probably born this way.

\- Annoying – Quiet agreed after a moment of thinking before he fell silent, listening to the book.

Lyndon purposefully read in a soothing voice that got lower and lower as time went by, and before long the small angel, who definitely did not want to sleep a moment ago, was snoring softly, head resting on the scoundrel's chest. Satisfied that his master plan worked, Lyndon patted the white hair, gazing over at the tall walls in the distance, making mental preparations for the heist ahead.

oooOOOooo

Normally, obstacles such at the river would have made things much, much harder.

Abnormally, Lyndon had teleportation, so he didn't really care.

He held Quiet close to his chest as he envisioned himself in the stable (every stable looked the same, surely he could manage that), crouched in some deep shadow. He closed his eyes, feeling the familiar (but still a bit unsettling) "lurching forward" sensation.

They landed in a hay cart with loud rustling, and Lyndon had to bite down on a curse while simultaneously clamping a hand on Quiet's mouth to stop him from crying out in alarm. He missed the target, _of course_ he did.

 _How the hell did I do it in the pub?_ he mused angrily as he carefully peeked out from their uncomfortably itchy hideout. Sure enough, they were on one end of the courtyard while that damned stable, housing six horses was opposite of them, some good 20 meters away. As Lyndon was about to chide himself for being such a clutz, he heard voices and two young stable boys walked out of the building, dragging pitchforks with themselves. Oh… they would have run into them, had they arrived according to plan. Lyndon slightly changed his opinion, though he was still from content: this damned hay rustled to every little movement, getting out of here without raising attention was nigh-impossible.

 _I should teleport again_ , he thought, already hating the idea.

Yet there wasn't really a better option. He could barely see anything from this spot, couldn't tell where the guards and others were. So he concentrated on the stable and angrily demanded to go there. Lurching forward again, and…

The air was knocked out of his lungs as he landed with a _thud_ on the roof of the damned building, rolling down on its slope until he smacked into the wall that rose just a few centimeters beyond its gutter.

\- Son of a **bitch** – he muttered angrily, but quickly clamped his mouth shut as he heard a shout in the darkness.

Above them by a couple meters, a barely visible silhouette leaned over the wall's parapet: a patrolling guard no doubt, looking straight at them. Lyndon froze to his place, staring back at the man but not daring to move. For a long minute, nothing happened. Then the guard pulled back, muttering something about "stupid birds". Lyndon let out a shaky breath he hadn't realize he was holding. Surely, the shadows saved his life. He raised his hand to run his fingers through his hair, but stopped as it passed before his eyes.

His skin was red.

Quite literally, his hand was as red as the tiles that covered the roof, it even had patches that resembled moss and dirt. Snapping his head up, Lyndon saw his entire body, with the coat, the trousers and everything else, in the same mismatch of colors. Just as he was about to panic however, a ripple ran across him (even though he felt nothing) and his "normal" coloring returned.

\- What the heeeeelll? – he breathed.

Was this another weird power? Did he really need more things to feel different about?! Really?!

Quiet hummed something and the scoundrel finally released him, apologizing in hushed tones. The small angel hung onto his coat as Lyndon carefully pushed himself up and climbed off the roof, causing minimal noise along the way. He could work with roofs very well. Hay stacks, not so much.

Once on the ground, they swooped from the shadow of the stable to the shadow of some hovel that was either some storage thing, or a home to a servant. Honestly, it could be either way, especially considering the supposed infamousness of this noble. Lyndon kept an eye on their surroundings as they snuck around and he counted over a dozen guards on the walls around. All of them faced outwards, and they were clearly putting much faith into the river surrounding them: apart from the small torches along the top of the wall, there was no large light inside the courtyard that could easily reveal them. There was a small group of four guards patrolling before the residence, but other than that, nothing.

Good.

Lyndon and Quiet got as close to the home as possible without being seen. They hid behind an empty cart that had a broken wheel.

\- Alright, now – Lyndon softly whispered to Quiet –, you remain here, okay? I will sneak inside that big building over there, then come out with the box of money. You will stay here, silent and don't let them see you, alright?

\- Kvaiet – Quiet nodded, poking at his own chest.

He had learnt the meaning of his name well.

\- I'll be back soon – Lyndon gently kissed him on the top of his head, then peeked out and swooped out from behind a cart like a bat when the patrol was facing the other direction.

He could feel Quiet's gaze on him, and he figured he could show some example to his charge.

 _Right, example. Sure._

Lyndon quickly snuffed out the slight guilt in himself. Everyone needed a hobby, okay?! And it wasn't like losing a couple hundred gold would really hurt this noble, other than annoy him. Who knows, this sneaking around might save Quiet's life one day. Angels were always loud and obvious beings. Imperius was obnoxious and even a blind and deaf person could easily locate him, Tyrael carried a glowing sword, Itherael a glowing **scroll**. Even Malthael with his own pale wings had been really hard to miss, conjuring up a dark twister of Evil Evilness around himself whenever he appeared to "check" on Johanna's progress in Westmarch. And his lackey, Urzael screamed so loudly it could be heard throughout all of the city, plus he opened with setting an entire district on fire.

So yes, clearly the High Heavens did not teach subtlety to its denizens. This skill will be useful for Quiet later on.

 _Yeah, keep justifying it._

Lyndon bared his teeth a little as he hid in some bushes that grew next to the residence, as a part of a smaller garden. He made sure the patrol was still not looking this way before rounding the corner. His hands quickly began picking at the wooden wings of the window, professionally feeling out the weak mechanisms behind it. Heh, forcing these open would be a—

\- Hey!

Immediately, Lyndon threw himself back behind the corner the millisecond he heard the shout, ducking under the bush again. Crap, the patrol turned around faster than he first anticipated!

\- You saw something?

\- I think I did!

\- What, another bird?

\- It was much bigger than that.

Damn.

Lyndon took a deep breath then forced himself to breathe in complete silence, becoming absolutely still under the leaves' covers. He dimly registered his hand taking up the pattern of the bush but he didn't dare to move his eyes either. He knew from experience that right now he had to keep still, no matter how close the guards would draw. Maybe this unsettling camouflage thing will help too.

The good news was that the patrol was clearly not certain about what they saw and they approached hesitantly.

\- I think it went this way.

\- I still think it was only a bird.

\- I'm telling you, it was much larger!

Lyndon fought the urge to roll his eyes. Come on, get on with it! Finally, a guard rounded the corner, looking uncertainly over the garden. He reached forward with his pike and brushed a couple of leaves out of the way with its blade. It drew unnervingly close to Lyndon but the scoundrel remained calm and still, trusting in the darkness and (by necessity) in his newly found power. Any minute now, and they would give up searching.

\- Anything? – came the question.

Instead of answering, however, the guard let out a blood-curling scream as the ground from under his feet erupted and he was impaled by a lance of sheer steel. Blood splashed everywhere as his abdomen was mangled, but Lyndon froze to his spot at the sight, unable to process the horror.

A fraction of a second later, the rest of the patrol followed their unfortunate member. Their screams of death rang across the entire estate and soon every window of every house lit up with lights and the guards atop the walls began running towards the stairs, beholding the horror down below. Shouting filled the air, alarms were raised. Lyndon threw himself out of the bush and ran back to the cart in plain sight.

Behind the vehicle, Quiet stared at the freshly killed patrol with angrily blazing red eyes, one finger still pointing towards them.

\- Quiet, what are you—?! – Lyndon shouted as he reached for his charge.

\- HALT! – barked a guard from above them.

Wiping his head upwards, Lyndon just had enough time to see the man shooting an arrow at them. The bolt, however, turned right around and flew into his own head, knocking him back.

Cold terror flooding him, Lyndon crashed Quiet against his chest and demanded that they get out of here, to safety, he didn't care where!

Rushing forward, then landing in knee deep water with a _splash_ , almost falling over. Lyndon regained his footing and ran as fast as he could, dimly recognizing the patch of trees they camped during the day.

\- Quiet, what have you done?! Why have you done it?! – he shouted, holding the little angel close.

\- Bad men! – Quiet retorted angrily. – Wanted to hurt you! I stop them!

\- No, damnit, no! They wouldn't have found me! They didn't need to die!

\- Yes! Yes! They ugly! They are badd!

Not even thinking, Lyndon roughly set Quiet down on the ground, stuffing everything into his backpack with panicked urgency.

\- Quiet, we do not kill unless we have to! We are not monsters! – he boomed at his charge, hauling the backpack onto his back.

\- **They** are monsters! – Quiet argued. – Mistakes! Bad! They had to di—

 _*SLAP!*_

A sudden deafening silence.

Quiet and Lyndon stared at each other, then the angel broke out in tears and wailed, small hands flying to his stinging cheek. The scoundrel gasped, realizing what he had done, and tried to haul him up into his arms. Quiet struggled, pushed against his chest with his hands, feet kicking the hips as he cried, volume rising rapidly.

\- Quiet, we need to go! Now! – Lyndon shouted over the wailing and despite the protests, he held him firmly in his embrace.

He started running, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the massacre as possible.

* * *

 **Man, we just can't have nice things for long in Diablo, can we?**

 **I guess I leave the larger "update news" to this second chapter. Feel free to read on below!**

 **So with the basic storyline pinned down for Act II, I can bravely venture into another series of weird and downright dumbass adventures, and I hope you will enjoy the ride as well. ;) If the story actually stretches out that far, I'll have a special treat planned for April 1st, so look forward to that. Considering the fact that I have school work and other shit along the way, I believe it is a pretty reachable goal. I've also planned for a couple of old (some REALLY old) faces to show up, one of them being Tyrael finally, wheee! :D Actually, I got so into planning, that Act III is starting to already take shape pretty well, so perhaps there won't be as large of a hiatus between them, as was between Act I and Act II. Anyway, enough of that rambling.**

 **Thank you all for your patience and here's to another great journey! ^^ Reviews and constructive criticism is of course always welcome!**

 **That is all, cupcakes. Take care, and keep being awesome!**


	16. Chapter 16

**_Chapter 16_**

 _You should have seen the signs!_

 _Why didn't you?! They were right there!_

 _Why don't you_ _ **ever**_ _see the fucking signs?!_

 _YOU ARE A FOOL!_

\- SHUT UP! – screamed Lyndon, his nerves snapping from the combined barrage of the horrible heist, Quiet's continuous wailing and his inner conscience berating him without pause.

He came to a sudden halt, surrounded by thick fog, stumbling over a root that slightly stuck out of the ground. He quickly set the crying Quiet down before collapsing onto the ground himself, fingernails sinking into the skin on his head. Lyndon stared before himself, heart racing like it wanted to burst free from his chest, feeling like he was suffocating despite his respiratory tracts working fine.

They sat there in the foggy forest, one wailing, the other heaving, both consumed by terror.

Minutes passed, maybe even half an hour. Quiet finally settled down, sniffling, small hands wiping away the tears as he worryingly looked at Lyndon.

\- Leendonn? – he called out uncertainly, tears still shimmering in his eyes. – Leendonn, you alright?

\- No—no, damnit, I'm not! – Lyndon stammered, gulping down air. – What the hell was that back there?!

Quiet didn't answer, he sat before his caretaker in a hunched, miserable position, casting his gaze to the ground. Minutes later, Lyndon managed to regain some self-control, and he ran his fingers across his hair in agitation.

It was happening again, he thought with dread. First Reah. Then Johanna and the others. Now Quiet. Lyndon was losing everyone to darkness! Was he cursed?! Was this his destiny, to somehow spur everyone around him into a murderous rampage?!

He could feel his nails sinking into his head again. He was terrified, but this terror was slowly turning into anger.

No… No, gods damnit all to Hell and back, he will not let this one happen! He was **sick** and **tired** of this! He was **not** cursed, that was bullshit! He will not let this one get out of hand.

Releasing his own head, Lyndon took a deep shaky breath.

\- Quiet. Look at me – he said firmly.

The angel didn't comply.

\- Quiet. Look at me, this is very important!

Finally, the red eyes turned sheepishly at him.

\- What you did back there was wrong. So very wrong! – Lyndon scowled at him. – That is what bad people and monster do. That is what **demons** do! Do you understand?!

\- But I just wanted to he—ellp – Quiet whined, bursting out in tears again. – They wanted to hurt you!

Lyndon gently scooped him up from the ground and sat him on his lap.

\- Quiet, I love you, I really do, but what you did back there was horrible – he looked into his eyes. – Very bad. We are better than this. **You** are better than this.

Quiet sniffled, allowing his caretaker to wipe off his tears.

\- Life is a good thing, it is a beautiful thing. It isn't something we should be playing with. We only kill those who try to kill us, when we have to **defend** ourselves, do you understand? Those people back there wouldn't have found me, and wouldn't have hurt me. We could have snuck in and out without them seeing us. Nobody would have gotten hurt.

Quiet shook his head, casting his gaze at his hands. Lyndon sucked in his breath sharply.

\- Quiet… answer me this. How would you feel if someone suddenly killed me? If I promised you that we would see each other in the evening, but then never come back because I was killed by somebody. How would you feel?

-… B-badd.

\- Exactly. Some of those men you've killed… they had someone at home waiting for them, just like you would be waiting for me. Wives. Children. Sons. You do remember what a "son" is, right?

\- Y—yes…

\- They all will wait futilely for their beloved to come home, because you killed them. That is why we must avoid killing as much as possible. Demons and monsters, yes they must be eliminated because they are evil and only want to destroy and hurt others. But people, humans, often have families, friends to return to. We cannot ruin those lives, unless we are forced into it. Unless we are attacked without reason or nearly killed by them. In self-defense it is acceptable, but never at other times, do you understand?

\- Ye-he-heess – Quiet cried, snuggling into his hug. – I'm so so—orryyy.

Lyndon sighed deeply. He never would have guessed that he would need to explain morals to an angel. Aren't they supposed to be the good guys? Were they not born with a basic set of ethics?

 _"…_ _and I care not that he seeks to destroy you and your kind."_

Lyndon grimaced at the memory. Of course… how could he have forgotten? Imperius, Archangel of Valor, the Aspect that was supposed to be all about protecting the weak and those in need. He sure as shit didn't care about how many millions of humans were slaughtered by his "poor sick" brother, Malthael, but the second those damned Death Maidens made a scratch on his perfect posh shiny Heavens, he was immediately ready to send Johanna to do the dirty work.

So it was true then. Angels did not have built-in moral codes, or at least they had a code that was vastly different than the one on Sanctuary. Lyndon needed to take that into account. He would teach Quiet to be a good person, even if he himself fails at that miserably. He had clearly overlooked this problem, but now he would make sure it was solved.

\- Alright… alright… We will make it work – he rocked the crying angel in his arms. – I will teach you everything you need to know, okay?

\- I am baddd…

\- No, no you are not bad. You have made a big mistake, yes, but that doesn't make you bad. I will teach you, and you will know how not to kill and cause grief, and you can be good. Promise me you will pay attention?

\- Yes, I pro—omissss – Quiet sniffled.

\- That's my little firefly – Lyndon smiled at him, kissing his head. – Come on now, we should travel further.

\- Tired – Quiet mumbled.

Lyndon paused for a moment. True, he was exhausted as well.

\- Guess a small nap couldn't hurt. Help me make camp and we will sleep, alright?

oooOOOooo

\- _HA-HEE!_

This strange gleeful cry jolted them out of their light sleep, with Lyndon reflexively grabbing the dagger in his belt as he sat up with a start.

A Treasure Goblin stood before them, barely a few meters away, staring right at them and grinning widely. At first, the scoundrel was taken aback by its friendly behavior, but soon he noticed the ivory-white nose-horn and the white spot on the head.

Oh… it was the very Goblin he freed from Edlin's home back in Kingsport.

\- What are you doing here? – he asked, still blinking the dreams out of his eyes.

He did not expect to see the little creep ever again, to be honest. Quiet uncertainly eyed the little demon before them.

\- _Haaaeee!_ – the Goblin pointed at the scoundrel with great conviction, then began rummaging in his sack of a once again incredible size.

Lyndon couldn't help but eye the creature warily as it threw gems and coins everywhere. The Goblin resurfaced with a giant longsword that had some kind of magical aura around it and he happily dragged it to the stunned scoundrel, shoving the weapon into his hands. Lyndon stared down at his gift uncertainly, his fingers automatically, if clumsily, curling around the long handle.

The Treasure Goblin frowned slightly at it, then swiftly yanked it out of his hold and threw it back into the sack. Another short rummaging later, he came back with a smaller, one-handed magical sword. Lyndon took it again, but he could barely register its weight before it got taken away again. The Goblin grumbled under his nose, sounding troubled and dissatisfied.

What was it doing, honestly?

The demon gave him a dagger with an ebony-black blade and wooden handle dotted with dark gems. Lyndon held it with expertise, feeling the hidden magic in it. It actually fitted into his palm well, strangely. The Goblin noticed too because he finally nodded satisfied, and left the weapon with Lyndon.

He pulled out a mace next.

\- No, I can't use that – the scoundrel shook his head, finally catching on.

Quiet was still completely lost next to them.

The Goblin quickly shoved the weapon back, and pulled out a pike. Lyndon shook his head again. Next came a crossbow of incredible craftsmanship. It looked like it was carved out of completely ivory, it had complex and quite divine decorations and patterns edged into its handle and onto the two ends of its limbs. Its metallic parts were of steel and they glimmered in a royal shine. Its string looked like it was of sheer light, it had its own dim shine. There was an aura around it, one that whispered great power.

Lyndon gawked at it. This was the single most beautiful object he had ever seen in his life.

The Treasure Goblin cocked it, and a bolt of light and electricity materialized on the weapon. He shot it at the sky and it disappeared, seemingly flying straight among the stars.

\- Incredible – Lyndon looked after it.

\- _He-heeeee!_ – the Goblin agreed and offered it to him.

He took it uncertainly, marveling at its design.

In the meantime, their sudden ally turned to Quiet and the two of them, roughly at the same height, eyed each other uncertainly. The Goblin eyed the angel, clearly pondering. Quiet squinted his red eyes at the demon, no doubt puffing up his cheeks in the darkness. With a soft grunt, the Goblin dived into his sack after a moment, and surfaced with a walking stick.

The cane actually looked pretty nice, it was carved from some kind of dark and no doubt tough wood. Its shaft had an odd appearance to it, like it had saw teeth on its side, and the handle ended in a T, with a transparent gemstone in the middle of it. Quiet uncertainly took it. The cane was at least as tall as he was. He carefully knocked it against the ground and suddenly the cane fell apart.

No… not fell apart. It turned into a notched whip, its shaft splitting up to many sections, all with a sawtooth.

\- _Heeee?_ – the Goblin gestured at the cane.

-… Luther wants to know if you want to keep it – Lyndon translated to Quiet, catching on the demon's meaning.

The angel stared at him, and the scoundrel realized he just gave a name to this little creep.

 _Luther?! Seriously?! Where did it even come fro—_

Ohhhh…

 **Looter**. Got it.

Lyndon wanted to hide his face into his hands at this. What was he thinking?

Quiet stared at the whip. He strongly flogged it mid-air, and it jumped back into its cane form. He stared at it briefly then nodded swiftly, accepting the gift.

\- _Ha-haa!_ – Luther happily exclaimed.

\- Thank you, Luther – Lyndon said. – You helped us out greatly.

The Goblin pointed at him and managed to surprise him yet again.

\- _Ffffriend!_ – he said confidently.

\- Friend?

\- _Frrriend!_

-… So be it – Lyndon smiled softly. – We are friends.

He instinctively reached out one hand to shake and Luther actually grabbed it, doing just that.

\- _Ffriendd!_ – he said one more time, then looked at the still wary Quiet. – _Ssmalll ffffriend!_

The angel tilted his head a bit. Luther gave Lyndon a strange dime that had the demon's profile engraved on it, then he took one out of his sack and flipped it in the air with his thumb. The scoundrel uncertainly sunk the dime into one of his pockets, not exactly sure what that had meant. Luther nodded to them in farewell, lifted his sack to his shoulder, and disappeared through a portal.

Silence settled back in.

\- We have a new friend, Quiet – Lyndon smiled at his charge. – Maybe we are not alone.

-… Sssure?

\- Yes. I am – the scoundrel said softly, holding up his new dagger and crossbow, both holding great powers on their own.

oooOOOooo

Once again, they fell back into their usual slow journeying towards Wezztmarrch, but now Leendonn talked about a lot more things. Now whenever he gave Quiet a dagger, he always explained much about where to aim to kill and where to aim to only hurt, and even showed it on his body with his fingers.

That last part really unnerved the already stressed out Quiet. He didn't want to hurt his friend, and his mind kept going back to that horrible question Leendonn had asked.

 _What if one day he doesn't come back? What if he gets killed?_

Quiet really did try to listen to everything his friend was teaching him, and he was making progress, but sometimes he just couldn't hold it together any longer and broke down crying for no reason, curling up into a tight miserable ball that had to be carried around and somehow calmed down by Leendonn.

Quiet felt horrible. He remembered the rush of power vividly back at that wet place: the huumans who died by his hands gave him an incredible sensation. He felt like he could take on the world and **win**. It felt so good, he just wanted to keep going. Leendonn's slap knocked him out of this madness. Back then that power felt amazing, so much better than the happy buzz he always got in crowded places, but now it felt bitter, repulsive even.

He was bad, just as bad as demons and it really hurt and even scared him. He did not want to be like them! He wanted to be good! Leendonn promised him he would teach Quiet how to be good, so the little angel tried to pay as much attention as he could. Leendonn told him about huumans whose job was to guard something or somebody, and would need to attack during a threat. He said that those kind of people should never be killed or even attacked, unless there is no other option truly. That is why sneaking and staying silent was important. If you could trick them, bypass them somehow, then nobody had to get hurt.

Quiet also saw that Leendonn did not attack the little ugly demon with the sack that night, because it didn't attack them. They even received gifts from it, which was really surprising. The cane Quiet got was too big for him and it turned into that weird toothy rope-thing he couldn't do anything with. Leendonn kept it in the backpack and instead he used his old dagger to teach the angel.

\- Sometimes, even if you are attacked, you can still not hurt anybody – Leendonn told him one day. – There are a few ways to do it. One: you can scare them away. It doesn't always work, but it is never a bad idea to try it out.

Quiet thought for a moment, then took a deep breath, and let out an ear-splittingly loud sound that was a strange mixture of honking and thunder. It echoed for long on the fields. Leendonn looked surprised. Quiet guessed humans couldn't be this loud, then.

\- Why, yes, that can work too – his friend finally said. – It can also work to look bigger or tougher than you are. Maybe threaten them without actually hurting them. The other way is to quickly knock them out by strongly hitting certain spots on the neck – he pointed there. – You are too small for that yet, but one day you will be big and strong enough to do that.

\- Punching hurts – Quiet pointed out.

\- Yes, it does, but they won't feel it for long, because they will faint – Leendonn nodded as they walked along the dirt road. – And once they wake up, they might be sore, but they will be alive and well in a few hours, maybe days.

As time went by, Quiet slowly shook off the paralyzing misery, although something always lingered in him. He was determined, however, that he would learn to be good from Leendonn.

He would not be bad as demons. Never!

 _Never again._

Quiet blinked in surprise. Strange. Where did that come from?

He shrugged it off, focusing back on Leendonn.

oooOOOooo

Lyndon was eternally grateful for the fact that Quiet was clearly _listening_. Thank the gods, they might salvage this yet!

Honestly, he was expecting the little angel to stubbornly refuse the teachings, but whatever blind madness had gotten over him back at the estate, it clearly shocked him enough to want to avoid it in the future. It would probably not go seamless the next time they get into an unavoidable conflict, but at least Lyndon now knew he had to keep Quiet close to himself. That way, he could make sure the child would not get carried away.

 _We can make this work_ , he assured himself. _I just need to stop whining and actually do something against it. It's going to be fine on the long run._

He knew he had that bad habit of overindulging in self-pity at times, instead of getting up from his ass and **work** for things to be better. Unfortunately, he could very rarely catch and call out on himself for whining, and only looking back did he realize them. At least now that was not the case.

In all honesty, Lyndon couldn't really blame Quiet for his horrifying brutal reaction back in the estate. Recalling the start of their shared journey, almost everyone they had met had tried to attack and/or kill them at some point, or otherwise screw them over. From being forced to run from an old friend, to random bandits, a turn-coat captain, those stupid ceramic figurines, the sea battle and finally to the entire population of Kingsport as well as the Lord of Wrath himself. Those days had really been rough on both of them (Lyndon sometimes still couldn't really believe they had made it through), no wonder Quiet had learnt to be aggressive at the sight of the slightest trouble. Children were like sponges, afterall.

After this sudden plunge in mood and morale, this new crossbow was god-sent. Lyndon couldn't believe how much he had actually missed holding these weapons, and such a perfect and remarkable specimen such as this at that. The handle seamlessly fit into his hands, it was deadly accurate, and its reload time was almost nothing: the bolts of light (maybe?) appeared in it nigh-instantly after firing. It nearly brought tears of joy to his eyes. Lyndon also had a sneaking suspicion that Luther had stolen this fine weapon from the High Heavens itself. Truly, there was no corner of Creation where these little creeps couldn't get into.

Lyndon could respect that.

But regardless whether or not this crossbow was of angelic craftsmanship, Lyndon loved it from the first practice shot and knew that Fate would need to work damn hard to separate them this time.

The black-bladed dagger too felt amazing in his hand. It was simple, fast, elegant, and deadly as all hell. It was so sharp it could the hair off of his arm with ease. It even had a barely noticeable gleam, and at night it was almost invisible even for Lyndon, which meant it was made for concealed stabs. He had yet to figure out what the hidden magic in it was, but it was bound to be something nasty.

Bramwell quickly came and went. The city had been hit hard during the Reaper attack, and unlike Westmarch, it had no huge wealth and power to quickly stand up from the disaster. Lyndon saw that it was gathering itself together slowly but surely, yet the scars showed clearly. The lack of city life most notably showed up on Quiet, by any case. Instead of the usual energized and super happy mood the angel usually got in big towns for some reason, Quiet remained pretty much the same throughout their stay in Bramwell. Lyndon wanted to move on quickly, but he did take the time to teach the angel more about humans, most notably the many good things they were actually capable of doing.

\- See that lady in that big house? – he once pointed out to Quiet, gesturing at the window of a hospital. – That is called a nurse. Do you know what nurses do?

Quiet blinked at the figure standing over the beds for a few seconds, then asked:

\- They make huumans sleep well?

\- Almost – Lyndon smiled slightly. – You see, those people in the beds are sick, or injured. Nurses like that lady help them get better as fast as possible. They heal injuries and treat illnesses. They are very kind, and always ready to help.

\- Why?

\- Because they want to. That is their job, and they chose it to help other people. There are times when someone gets so sick that they cannot be treated. Those times, nurses make sure they don't have to be alone. It is a hard job, and you need to be brave to do it.

\- Why?

\- It can be very sad and stressful even, especially when they cannot help someone to get better for some reason. They need to be strong during that. And they can catch sicknesses very easily as well, being surrounded by so many ill people. That is why they are so brave, doing what they do, to help others.

Quiet knocked his head to the side, watching the lady attentively.

\- Lady good – he concluded then.

\- Yes, nurses are very good – Lyndon nodded, guiding him down the street. – There are a lot of other good people all around the world. It is always better to try and be one of them.

\- I will be good! – Quiet announced in a determined tone.

\- I'm sure you will be, firefly – Lyndon patted his head. – You need to learn a lot, but you will get there. I promise.

* * *

 **Bonus point to those who can tell me where the weapon Quiet was given is from! Hint: it's a video game. One that I would never EVER play in my goddamn life, but it has some pretty dope weapons, not gonna lie. ANYWAY!**

 **Hooowdy all, FanFic hates my ass! Did you guys know?! First there was this weird ass glitch where I couldn't upload anything, and NOOOW I got a super long and very kind Guest review (from the style, it appears to be Miss Gems, FF only logged you out again XD), but guess what?! It does NOT appear among the reviews. It shows up in the counter, but nowhere else! And it sucks ASS, because 1) it's too long and the email does not show it in its full length so I cannot appreciate it in its full glory and 2) since it is a Guest review, there is no link pointing at the review itself, unlike in the case of those written by site members. Bullshit system, but what can you do about it? So I'm a BIT aangrryyyy about that, in case you couldn't tell from this rant. FanFic, get your fucking shit together already, what is wrong with you?! Did your server room got attacked by an army of rabid hamsters, or what?!** ** **I will keep bombarding their asses with support emails until I get some kind of response, I swear!****

 **Phew, anyway, enough of that. As for the story, I have a bit of a confession to make. I FEEL like that scene with our friendly neighbor Treasure Goblin isss a bit wonky/cranky/dumbass, and is a bit strangely timed after that big morale breakdown they had. In all honesty, this is due to pacing stuff. That scene had been ready for a long time, and I realized it NEEDED to happen before Westmarch. Soooo, if you cupcakes also feel like it's a bit shit in placement, I cannot blame you, and feel free to tell me so I may pay more goddamn attention next time. Hopefully. Anyway, that's all for today.**

 **Take care and keep being awesome!**

 **P.S.: Miss Gems, if you could send the review as a PM (IF it was really you writing it), I would very much appreciate it, because it is bugging the CRAP out of me, for not being able to properly read and respond to it! Thanks!**


	17. Chapter 17

**I'm on a rollll, you guysss!  
**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 17_**

Westmarch. The only city in Creation that can shake off any aftereffect of any kind of disaster in little more than half a year.

That was an achievement not even the High Heavens could claim.

Malthael's terror had left the city's streets covered thickly in corpses like gruesome rugs, but now it almost looked completely normal again. Buildings, the squares and the docks had been repaired. The dead and the ruins were cleaned up. Surviving members of the noble families returned to their estates, most of them quickly getting rid of the mausoleums under their own homes. There was a new king chosen, for better or worse, it was General Edmund Torion who had originally defended the city during the Reaper attack. People came back to live here, merchants, artisans, fishermen, professions of all kinds. New city guard formed.

Lyndon couldn't help but wonder, as they walked down on the of the wider cobblestone streets, that this had to be the one true middle finger of immense proportions in the face of Malthael and his original plans of wiping out humanity. A small part of the scoundrel hoped that the angel had been reborn and was now currently watching this place from afar, fuming with helpless anger at just how little his efforts actually achieved.

Sure, there were signs: more guards were on the streets, most civilians walked with some kind of weapon on them, a good number of houses were still vacant, up for sale or for rent. Some buildings held patches of ash and smoke, or a couple of slashes on their walls. There were a few mad beggars prophesizing the Apocalypse, unfortunate souls who no doubt got too close to a Reaper but somehow survived.

\- Big city – Quiet commented, curious eyes constantly darting from one thing to the next.

His energetic behavior was the best testament for the current condition of Westmarch.

\- This is largest you have ever been to, that's right – Lyndon smiled down at him as they walked along, hand in hand. – It has been hurt badly not long ago. Do you remember we read about Malthael?

\- Archangel of Wisdom – Quiet nodded.

\- He had gone bad, very bad, turned into the Angel of Death – Lyndon sighed. – Killed a lot of good people here. He was worse than a demon. But Johanna, me and the others stopped him.

\- Malthael dedd?

\- I believe so.

 _I damn hope so._

\- AAAAHHH, LYNDON THE SCOUNDREL! – the powerful rang from across the street, causing Lyndon to jump and reflexively push Quiet behind him.

Eyes darting among the crowd, Lyndon finally saw the owner of the strong voice rushing towards them.

\- Captain Hansen Haile? – he asked in disbelief.

He only recognized the battle-hardened old man from his scar-covered blind left eye. Instead of his signature armor and sword, he wore nicer civil clothing now. By his side, two children ran along: one was Kyla, Haile's red-haired daughter who had remained absolutely fierce and unwavering in the face of the Reaper attack, even when their home had been overrun while her father was away. The other was the small boy with blonde hair, Kyla's friend, who got stuck with her in the house until Johanna and Lyndon came to rescue them. Thankfully they had reached the Survivor's Enclave where they remained safe throughout the madness.

\- Ey, Lyndon, you sly fox, you! – Captain Haile laughed thunderously, smacking the scoundrel in the back so hard he almost fell over. – Still prowling around here, I see! You've met my kids, right? I adopted the little boy, his name is Geralt. Say hello, Geralt!

\- Hello – came the meek voice from below.

\- Hi there, I remember you as well – Lyndon shook hands with the kid. – You two had been most brave during that attack.

\- Bloody Reapers were hardly a match for us, anyway! – Kyla exclaimed proudly, in the exact same style as her father, before turning her attention to the timid Quiet. – Is he your son? Why doesn't he talk?

\- So you finally became a responsible adult, Lyndon? Never thought I'd see the bloody day, but you really came through! – Captain Haile grinned widely.

\- Oh, this is, uh—

\- Quiet – mumbled the little angel.

\- 'Ey now, kid, don't be rude – the captain frowned at him, making him hide into the end of Lyndon's coat.

\- Wha—No! His **name** is Quiet – the scoundrel rushed to his charge's aid. – Listen, Haile, can I ask you a couple of questions? Really important.

\- Your son has a weird name, Lyndon.

\- Yes-yes, I'm aware of that. Okay, so first, do you still work at the city guard?

\- Aye, it's my day-off. We were just on our way with the kids to a play!

\- So you are still in the thick of things. Do you know if Johanna is here? Or nearby?

\- Mh, no, not heard of her since the attack. She must be out there somewhere saving the bloody world again. Why, you want to find her?

\- Uhm, kind of. And Tyrael? He still lives here, right?

\- Aye, I can even tell you where. We stay in contact all the time. He is reforming the Hore-Hodra—

\- Horadrim.

\- That, yeah. Bloody fancy words ain't never been my forte – Captain Haile shrugged nonchalantly.

\- Awesome! I need to find him, where is he? – Lyndon said in a hurry, instinctively looking down at Quiet.

To his surprise, the little angel was busy speaking in hushed tones with Geralt, the little boy carefully lifting up a few locks of his long hair and marveling at their (to him, golden) color. Quiet patiently let him do it as they talked about things, like "far too loud adults".

\- Where's the rush, Lyndon? – Captain Haile smirked at the stunned scoundrel. – You've been away from Westmarch for so long! Let me show you around! The kids clearly don't want to go their separate ways yet.

\- Haile, I—look, I just want to see Tyrael as soon as possible, okay? – Lyndon sighed heavily.

\- Is tonight too late already, or what?

\- Eh, no, but—

\- Then let's go! It will be fun – Captain Haile laughed again, quickly grabbing Lyndon and sweeping him away into the city.

oooOOOooo

The little huuman named Jeralt was very soft-spoken, but Quiet kind of liked that. It reminded him of the tone Leendonn always used at night when he was reading that large book to him. The other, slightly larger huuman, Kyla was much louder, much like her faddder, Kapten Heyly. She was very chatty and kept asking things Quiet either did not fully understand, or couldn't really answer, like "where are you from?", "who is your mother?", "is Leendonn really your dad? You look prettier than him". Jeralt spoke much slower and more understandably.

The three of them talked as the adults guided them down the streets. Quiet mostly listened as Kyla as she rambled on about the city around them, the many things that happened here, including some kind of really bad attack by some things called Reeepperz, and how ugly and stupid they all had been. Quiet figured this was that bad thing that Malthael did, the one Lyndon told him about. An angel worse than a demon. Quiet scowled at the thought, steeling his resolve that he would **not** be like that ever.

\- There was this huuuuge Reeepper! Really big! Remember that, Jeralt? It walked down that street, I thought it would fell over it was so fat and slow – Kyla explained in her loud voice, pointing widely at one of the streets. – But Johhana killed it and we could move on and get to the Enclave.

\- Those monsters were scary – Jeralt said. – They made scary noises. Some of them even talked.

\- Yes! Those ugly lady-things. Johhana said they had been angels once. I thought angels would be nicer than those bloody thin wisps of smoke – Kyla snorted. – They looked so stupid! Even their hair was blue smoke!

\- But they carried around large scythes.

\- Sure, but they couldn't even use them properly! They were so stupid!

Did these two not know that many people died to those "stuupidd" (whatever that meant) monsters, Quiet mused. Strange. He would need to ask Leendonn about it later, but he decided not to mention that to the children.

\- There were ghosts too! – Kyla went on.

\- They looked like they were blind-folded – Jeralt added, timing his own comments well with Kyla.

\- What is a "gost"? – Quiet asked.

-… Oh you are from abroad, right? You don't speak the language very well – Kyla stared at him. – A ghost is, it's like a spirit!

\- What's a "spirit"?

\- The grown-up say ghosts are the souls of dead people coming back to haunt bad children – Jeralt explained. – They are like, floaty and see-through and very scary. But those large ghosts attacked adults, not children.

\- Johhana killed them all of course. Dad told me how he helped with that in the cemetery, too! All those bloody ghosts were so easy to kill – Kyla laughed.

The three of them didn't really pay attention to their surroundings, they were so engrossed in their conversation. At one point, Kapten Heyly and Leendonn gave them treats, one large apple stuck on a stick and covered in something glossy and brownish to each of them. Quiet uncertainly glanced up at Leendonn.

\- Try it – he encouraged the little angel. – It will be sweet. If you don't like it, I will eat it, alright?

Quiet uncertainly stuck his tongue out and licked the strange apple. He blinked at it a few times, then happily began to nibble at it, humming in satisfaction. It was yummy! Almost like those berries had been on that bush he asked to grow fruit long ago. Leendonn smiled at him and patted him on the head. Quiet offered one hand for his friend to grab and they continued their slow walking.

oooOOOooo

\- Damn. You sure about that? – Captain Haile asked, in an actually low voice this time, eye full of concern.

\- Yes. Please believe me, I have journeyed by her side all across Creation to save it – Lyndon said in an equal low volume, as not to draw the attention of the three children who were clearly having a good time. – I would not say it if I didn't see it with my own eyes. She even tried to kill me twice, intentionally.

\- But what the hell has caused this temper of hers?

\- Not sure. I just hope it won't get worse.

\- Lyndon, you said you almost got **decapitated** two times already by her! You want me to be okay with that?!

\- She seems to only have it out for me – Lyndon shook his head. – I don't know what I did, but she has hurt nobody so far. Like I've said, she even saved Kingsport from a demon.

 _She wants Quiet. What for, I have no idea._

\- Something still ain't right, scoundrel – Haile grumbled anxiously. – I'll keep a lookout for her and keep my guard up, should she come to town.

\- Just be careful. All I'm asking is that you warn me so we can move on and avoid her in time.

\- Will do, partner. Don't you worry.

\- Thanks, Haile. That helps a lot, really – Lyndon exhaled loudly. – You have no idea about the hell we've been through lately because we were on the run from her.

\- And… the kid? – Haile glanced down briefly at Quiet. – He's not really your son, huh?

Lyndon took a deep breath, torn about what to say. On one hand, he wished to keep this secret from everybody, especially now that Quiet had some kind of disguise around himself. On the other hand, if he couldn't trust Captain Haile, he wouldn't be able to trust anyone on this world.

-… No, he is not – he finally admitted, voice barely over a whisper. – Although lately he had been like a son to me. He's… an angel, actually.

Haile glanced down at the small child again.

\- An angel? – he echoed in disbelief.

\- Yes. Although he is pretty strange, even for them. I know you only see his human form, but—

\- No, no. Now that you mention it… – Haile squinted, confused – I think I see some light tentacles or what. Those weren't there before.

So the mirage failed the moment the watcher knew Quiet's true nature. Good to know.

\- Those are his wings, yes – Lyndon nodded slowly. – I… I think Johanna is after him. That's why she was ready to kill me.

\- How did you get him, seriously?!

\- It's… a long and complicated story. Honestly, I'm still not sure how it happened. But now I guard him from Johanna and everyone else.

\- Why?

-… I don't know.

Haile glared at him so hard, Lyndon wanted to sink into the ground right there and then.

\- You are clearly no damn soldier, boy. A soldier must have a clear goal and a clear reason for everything he does!

\- Haile, it is not that simple…

\- Then discover why the hell you are doing it! How do you expect to serve your role well when you don't even know why you are there?! Are you out of your mind, boy?!

Lyndon rolled his eyes and scowled. He hated it when people lectured him. He really did.

\- I mean it, Lyndon – Haile returned the gesture tenfold. – Strangle the answers out of someone. Read into it or something, I don't know, damnit! It's gonna cost your bloody life otherwise.

Lyndon paused.

\- Alright, Haile, I see your point, I guess – he surrendered.

\- Listen to the words of this old dog, boy – Haile mumbled. – You'll thank me one day.

Suddenly he stopped and gazed at the horizon. Only now did Lyndon notice how close it was to dusk. They really talked the day away, damn.

\- Look at the time – the captain sighed. – Guess I'll show you to Tyrael's house on the way home now, okay?

\- Thanks – Lyndon nodded. – He probably can help me greatly.

\- I pray that he can, boy.

Lyndon hauled up Quiet into his arms who was clearly getting sleepy, tiredly playing with the empty stick. Geralt too looked spent, only Kyla was full of energy like always. The scoundrel pulled the hood over the angel's head and followed Haile, gently rocking him all the way.

\- Leendonn? – Quiet asked.

\- Yes?

\- Why Kyla have—has two names?

\- Most people do. "Haile" is her family's name. It helps making a difference between two people when they have the same first name. It also shows what family they belong to.

\- What is your…s?

Lyndon sighed heavily.

\- I don't have one. I didn't have a family of my own. My big brother, Edlin had his own in time, but I never got one.

Quiet thought for a moment, his gaze lost upon the stick.

\- Leendonn Good Friend – he finally said, no doubt smiling.

\- That's not exactly how family names work – Lyndon chuckled slightly. – But thank you, Quiet. I really appreciate it.

\- We family now?

-… Yes. I think we are – Lyndon said, musing over the words.

They really were one, no denying that.

Quiet fell silent again, before flapping his wings behind his cape.

\- Leendonn Liyt—Lightwing – he said then. – Quiet Lightwing.

Lyndon smiled faintly at it, patting him on the head.

\- That could be a family name, yes.

\- Our…s.

\- If you want it to.

Satisfied, Quiet snuggled back into the hug, dropping the stick finally.

\- We are going to meet a relative of yours, Quiet – Lyndon cooed to him. – Imagine that, another angel! Won't that be fun? He no longer has his wings anymore, but he is still an angel. He can help us.

\- Help is good – Quiet mumbled, rapidly falling asleep from the constant rocking.

Lyndon buried the angel's face into his chest as he carried him along. It was a good thing Quiet still weighted nearly nothing.

\- You really do care for him, don't you? – Haile mumbled, glancing at them.

\- Yes. He kinda grew on me, I can't help it – Lyndon nodded. – He can be such a sweet child. Although he doesn't know a lot yet, and that can lead to… problems.

\- Isn't that the case for every kid? – Haile snorted in humor. – Our job's to teach them right from wrong.

\- I'm on it, oh boy, am I on it – Lyndon sighed deeply, recalling the noble's estate. – Hard as hell sometimes.

He still felt bad for slapping Quiet in the heat of the moment, but he knew that probably had been for the best.

\- Most important job in the world, bringing a child up. That's why it's hard to do it right – Haile simply said.

\- True that – Lyndon glanced at the man. – I didn't even know you were such a wise scholar, captain.

\- Don't get uppity with me, _boy_.

\- Sir yes sir.

The two men snickered as they walked down on the main street in the dying light.

* * *

 **Oh boy oh boy, FINALLY Westmarch. Jeesh, that city is sure as shit far away, or what? Anyway, this chapter was a joy to write, mostly because of the MOST BADASS character in all of Diablo lore.**

 **Captain.**

 **Motherfucking.**

 **Hansen Haile.**

 **Now before any of you cupcakes begin arguing against that FACT, allow me to shed some light on the matter. Is Haile a goddamn Prime Evil? No. Is he an Archangel? No. Is he a Nephalem? No. He's a mere human but he gives so few fucks about that small detail, that it's simply beautiful. He is NOT impressed in the slightest by Azmodan's invasion. He doesn't care when demons take over the elevator. He is not impressed by being completely alone and surrounded on a ruined bridge by demons that were bred to take down fortresses. He doesn't give a single SHIT about Malthael's edginess, and he SHITS on the undead and the Reapers sent against him. Even his daughter Kyla Haile is such a freaking badass that she doesn't even get scared when their home gets overrun in the middle of the goddamn Reaper attack. All this and he is a mere human! Not a god-like being with incredible power, he is armed with a fucking shield and a sword and he proceeds to shit on everything in sight that way.**

 **...**

 **Obviously I'm joking, cupcakes. XD You can think other characters are the true badasses of the Diablo lore, of course you can. But you cannot deny that Captain BAMF Hansen Haile is among the top ten (if not five) biggest badasses. And I love the guy so much!**


	18. Chapter 18

**_Chapter 18_**

Since the last time they met, Tyrael apparently had decided to actually start _living_. What a twist, Lyndon mused.

Haile led him to one of the larger estates located in the center of the city. It had clearly been abandoned during the Reaper attack. Apparently, no noble came to reclaim it, so Tyrael took hold of it with the blessings of Torion.

\- Our angelic friend is rolling in dough now, boy – Haile snickered. – Turns out, Torion's a bloody generous man, he paid Tyrael well for his role in saving the world two times. I'm honestly surprised he accepted it.

\- Guess Tyrael's learning how the world works – Lyndon half-smiled. – You need money, even to save the world.

\- I bet the Hode—Hoda—

\- Horadrim.

\- Bloody hell. So these mage guys will be useful in the future.

\- It's Tyrael's second time forming them, or so I've heard. I'm sure he knows what he is doing.

Haile grunted in agreement and the two men finally said goodbye to each other. Even Quiet mumbled a barely audible "g'bye" in his sleep when he heard Kyla and Geralt wish them goodnight.

With that, Lyndon walked up the few stairs to the entrance, opened the door and stepped in with confidence, hoping to find Tyrael and ask for his help.

He did not expect to find Tyrael so **soon** , however.

The two men collided on the doorstep with a _thud_ , both of them almost losing their footing. Lyndon stumbled back, but by some miracle, Quiet did not wake up in his arms, only mumbled something and snuggled deeper into the hug. Tyrael shook his head, staring bewildered at his visitor.

\- Lyndon? – he asked uncertainly.

\- Good to see you too, Tyrael – Lyndon grinned awkwardly. – Listen, can we talk? There is something pretty important I need to ask and—

\- I can't – the mortal angel quickly interrupted him. – I am already late from a—meeting.

Only now did Lyndon take a good look at his friend. Tyrael was dressed much differently than his usual attire: he was actually wearing nice robes, cleaned boots and a long leader coat, instead of his usual shaggy and worn-out rags. No armor pieces could be seen either, and El'druin did not hang by his side.

It looked surprisingly good on him.

\- Can it wait until morning? – Tyrael asked. – You can stay here, if you want. We have some vacant rooms on the floor above.

\- Uhm… I guess I can, but where—

\- Great! Make yourself at home here – the angel quickly said, not even glancing at the sleeping package in the scoundrel's arms. – There is some food in the pantry, if you want to eat. I really have to go now, bye!

With that, he pushed past the stunned scoundrel and rushed down the few steps, disappearing into the night air. Lyndon stared after him.

-… Is **everyone** going mad these days?! – he asked aloud, but of course no answer came.

With one final shrug, Lyndon stepped inside the mansion and closed the door behind him. Looking around, he noted the quite cozy interior with the stone walls, carpets, parquet floors and torches. Tyrael's decision to finally settle down and reform the Horadrim here in Westmarch seemed to have been a good one, especially in this house. It was spacious and large enough to house the order, at least during its startup, and it had been clearly built with practicality in mind, instead of elegance and glamour. Few noble families could claim such thing, and it was a good guess that Tyrael too chose this home specifically for this reason.

Lyndon dragged himself up the stairs, tired from the day's events. Finding the bedroom closest to the stairs, he noted it had two single beds in it. Perfect. He carefully placed the **still** sleeping Quiet on one, then turned to his own and took off the backpack. After a brief second of staring at the furniture, Lyndon realized he should eat something first. So he went downstairs again, looking for the pantry. The house was strangely empty. The few Horadrim members were probably away on missions or something, he decided as he wandered up and down.

Finally, he stumbled across the pantry and after raiding it for a few pieces of bread and a good bottle of ale, Lyndon continued his aimless walking inside the house. Despite being tired, he somehow didn't feel like sleeping. Instead, his mind kept trying to come up with a way to explain the situation to Tyrael without sounding like an idiot. Seriously, though, how was he supposed to ask the fallen angel for help?

"Hey, can you give me advice on how to bring up baby angels?"

"So Tyrael, up in the Silver City, how exactly do you people take care of space-warping young angels?"

Lyndon sighed deeply. Maybe he really should just go to sleep, but his mind kept going back to Tyrael and his strange outfit. Knowing the Archangel, he never really cared about what he wore, and Lyndon could swear he had never seen the man without El'druin before (well, except during those first few days, when the sword was broken into three parts). But now with this well-kept robe and the obviously well-made leather coat, not to mention those boots, Tyrael looked like he was going to meet a king.

… Or maybe a woman.

Lyndon had to snicker at the thought. Yeah, right. Tyrael, the guy who once thought it was a good idea to eat every meal of the day in the morning so he wouldn't waste time later, would **totally** get a girl.

The scoundrel didn't even notice the passing of the time, until he was walking by a window on the second floor and he thought he heard the voice of Tyrael.

 _Great, I've managed to spend half the night awake_ , Lyndon rolled his eyes at his own foolishness.

By some inner prompting, he walked up to the window, taking a sip from the emptying ale bottle. He casually leaned out a bit, looking down at the paved road.

The ale decided to turn around and go up his nose, threatening to launch itself out of his mouth in a beautiful arch into the cold night air.

There was Tyrael, standing not far from the entrance of the mansion.

Holding the hands of a blonde-haired woman.

\- Thank you so much for coming with me to this play! – she smiled earnestly. – Heavens know, the people needed this to lift their spirits.

\- Thank **you** for inviting me! It was truly a great experience. I have never seen such an event before – Tyrael returned the gesture, and Lyndon could **swear** he heard his voice quiver a bit. – I… Would you like to come inside? I believe I have some wine in the pantry. We could talk about… well, anything really.

The woman laughed at this, and she actually hugged Tyrael who was positively growing redder by the second.

\- Thank you, but I cannot stay – she said, pulling away and smiling apologetically. – You are very kind, but tomorrow I have much work to do, and I will need the rest. Maybe next time… when things are a bit calmer.

\- O—of course, I understand – Tyrael hurried, taking her hands into his again. – But… Then please, allow me to walk you home. I would not want to leave you alone in the dead of the night. It—I would be very worried for you…

The woman laughed again, and began walking, holding onto the angel's hand. Together, they slowly disappeared into the night, clearly not rushing to get anywhere, their cheerful chatter dying away eventually.

Lyndon managed to free his respiratory tracts from the treacherous liquid without drawing attention to himself and now he was busy rubbing his eyes and shaking his head.

Tyrael had been on a **date**!

Was this a sign of the Apocalypse?! Fallen angels, absolutely clueless about mortal life, getting girlfriends? It had to be.

Oh, Lyndon would **not** let this one slide!

The notion of sleep was swung out the window, he prepared to confront Tyrael about this whole mess. It was his sacred duty to do so!

When Tyrael returned an hour or so later, he looked pretty relieved: a small smile tucked at his lips as he fumbled with the front door keys, and there was a certain lightness in his steps which was unheard of before. Turning around, however, he quickly came face to face with the widely grinning Lyndon, who awaited him leaning against the wall, a new bottle of alcohol in his hand.

\- So when do we toast to your new girlfriend? – the scoundrel asked happily, holding up the bottle.

Tyrael promptly fled to his library at this and closed the door on himself.

oooOOOooo

\- Tyrael, open up!

\- No!

\- Come on, you are being ridiculous.

\- I don't care!

\- Hey, I just wanted to congratulate you!

\- You **spied** on me!

\- No, I didn't! You were **literally** standing under my window, how should I have **not** seen you with her?!

\- Leave me alone, Lyndon!

\- What if I can help you, hm? I can give you advice on how to sweep the girl off her feet.

\- No, thank you! I'm fully aware of your womanizer ways.

\- I can be a true gentleman. Girls **always** love that. I know all the tricks!

-… But I don't want it! I don't want any of this!

\- You don't want _what_? Why not?

\- It's all wrong, alright?! I shouldn't be doing this!

 _Oh crap_ , Lyndon pursed his lips. Something was clearly amiss here.

\- Look, Tyrael, I swear to all that is holy and sacred that I don't want to make fun of you! But I can see we clearly need to talk!

-…

\- Come on, man, open up! Please? I can help!

A pause.

Then the lock on the door clicked and it slowly opened, revealing a quite troubled and not at all relieved Tyrael on the other side. His initial cheerfulness was nowhere to be seen now, and Lyndon had the feeling it wasn't really because he was caught with a girl.

\- Yes, we are going to need this, don't we? – the scoundrel smiled awkwardly, holding up the bottle as he shuffled inside.

The library was clearly the largest room of the mansion. It may have been a ball room before, but now the Horadrim filled it with numerous bookcases, all on the verge of collapsing from codexes and books. There were a couple of chairs, armchairs and smaller-bigger tables sprinkled across the maze they have created. Tyrael insisted they sit down to the one farthest away from the entrance. Lyndon thought this was just unnecessary paranoia, but the fallen angel looked already stressed out enough, so he kept this opinion to himself.

\- So… uhm… Congratulations! – Lyndon held his glass up for toast. – What's her name?

-… Sophia – mumbled Tyrael, eyes kept on his laced fingers, not even touching his cup.

\- I think I recognize her, to be fair. Was she there at the enclave during the Reaper attack?

\- Yes. She is a nurse. She treated me as well. It's her merit that my encounter with Malthael did not have worse consequences.

\- Oh, nurses are a treasure, truly! – Lyndon agreed heartily. – They are so gentle, and soft and—

\- Lyndon – Tyrael grumbled.

\- Sorry. Force of habit, you see – the scoundrel chuckled awkwardly, before clearing his throat and putting on a more serious face. – So… what's the matter? Something's clearly eating away at you.

Tyrael chewed his lips. Definitely not a good sign.

\- I just… I know I shouldn't be doing this – he admitted finally, lacing his fingers together tighter.

-… Why not? – Lyndon cocked his head to one side at this, clearly confused.

\- Because I have other things to do, alright?! – Tyrael snapped, throwing himself back in his armchair in agitation. – I should be recruiting and training Horadrim! I should be working on that damned book! I should be preparing for when things go wrong **again** on this damned world! Yet, here I am, wasting my time with stupid things that have nothing to do with any of those goals! What is wrong with me?! Am I cursed? Am I under some spell? Did I lose my mind?! Explain this to me, Lyndon!

The scoundrel stared at the outburst. Then he sighed loudly and took a long swing from the glass. This would be difficult.

\- I apologize – mumbled Tyrael, casting his golden gaze back to his hands.

\- Well… I think I see the problem – Lyndon said, rubbing his nose ridge.

He tried to collect his thoughts. Never before had he had to explain such things to someone else. It was a given thing really, everyone knew the explanation to it, even if not "actively". But telling this to someone completely new to this world?

\- So… Tyrael – the scoundrel began, struggling to find the right words. – There is nothing wrong with you, don't worry.

\- Really? I do not feel that way – the fallen angel snorted, finally reaching for his cup and taking a sip from it.

\- Look, I'm not going to pretend like I understand how you angels work up in the High Heavens, but it's clearly different than us humans down here – Lyndon shook his head. – Let me guess: angels always put duty first, right? Work, work, work, work until you have nothing to do, right?

\- Yes. Ignoring one's duty in favor of self-gain is frowned upon greatly – Tyrael nodded.

\- That's the problem, right there – Lyndon pointed out. – Tyrael, you are no longer an angel. And we mortals… well, we need to recharge ourselves from time to time.

The fallen angel glanced at his companion in confusion.

\- Eventually **everyone** runs out of energy and motivation, no matter their tasks or dedication – the scoundrel went on, finally gaining some momentum. – It is natural. We need opportunities to get away from our duties, to experience something different and just let go of our worries for a while. This is not laziness, it is a chance to regain our vigor and determination, so when we return to the task at hand, we can be efficient at it again.

Tyrael didn't say a word, but he was clearly listening intently.

\- Tell me: do you enjoy Sophia's company? Did you have fun tonight, whatever the heck you two were doing together?

-…

\- Because you seemed pretty happy to me when you came home.

Tyrael finally surrendered:

\- Yes. Yes, I do. She is just… so kind, as so full of life, despite everything she had lived through. I can't help but be happy around her as well.

\- That is great! You clearly need it! So don't be afraid of it – Lyndon exclaimed happily. – And don't beat yourself up for having some fun and relaxing a bit. You just watch, the next day you will return to your duties with triple the energy!

\- I hope you are right.

\- I'd bet **anything** on it! How did you two get together, anyway?

\- Well… when she treated me, we talked. A lot, I mean. And realized we have many common subjects – Tyrael wondered. – Sophie is interested in the world and what is happening, even though she does not have the opportunity to travel. She is well-read and picks up just about any book she can get her hands on. So we… kind of kept on seeing each other even after everything settled. She is dedicated, selfless and quite beautiful. My heart flutters whenever I look at her, and I have this weird buzzing feeling in me. Is that normal?

\- Oh yes, yes it is – Lyndon nodded, smiling, not missing that little nickname Tyrael involuntarily used just now. – That is a really good sign. It means you are in love with her. And from what I've seen, she enjoys your company very much as well. Does she know you are a—?

\- Yes, of course – the fallen angel waved dismissively. – She knew it from the day she began treating me. But as you know, angels ran amuck in the city those days anyway, so she wasn't even remotely surprised by this. She was curious, however.

\- Ohohoho, this one sounds juicy!

\- What's juicy about the general structure of the High Heavens? – Tyrael looked at Lyndon in confusion.

\- Oh… Oh, nevermind then. I thought about… something else – the scoundrel quickly backpedaled.

\- Her affinity for learning and discoveries is praise-worthy, I must say – Tyrael went on, clearly getting lost in thought. – But… I don't feel any secondary goals behind it. She doesn't want to get stronger, or gain more power. She is just interested. She wants to know how the world works, but doesn't want to affect it in any way. I find that… refreshing. It is good to know there are still people out there like her.

\- Yes, the amount of power-hungry evil wizards, nobles, demons and angels have grown in number in our recent lives, haven't they? – Lyndon grumbled, thinking about Adria, Kulle, Malthael and all the other nutcases he had encountered in this last year.

\- They sure have – Tyrael laughed a little at this. – I must say, my former life pales in comparison to the chaos of this new one. I would have never imagined any of it. Especially not this… predicament now.

\- Come on, Tyrael, this is not a predicament. This is something amazing! – Lyndon scowled at him.

\- If you say so…

\- I **mean** it, Tyrael – Lyndon said, actually dead serious for once. – _Really_. I'm happy for you that you've managed to find someone like her. Do not close yourself off from this chance, just because it brings something new into your life. Go for it!

\- I… Thank you, Lyndon – Tyrael blinked. – That was surprisingly honest from you.

\- Hey, I can be honest if I want to be! – the scoundrel sniffled, offended.

\- Sure – the fallen angel smirked, before something occurred to him. – Wait. You wanted to ask my advice on something?

Lyndon had to blink several times before he finally remembered why he had come here in the first place.

\- Oh right! – he exclaimed, setting down his glass onto the table. – So how exactly does one take care of a baby angel?

The look on Tyrael's face made Lyndon wish he could have recorded it somehow for future generations.

oooOOOooo

Quiet saw strange dreams.

He lied on his back on the ground and couldn't see much outside of the grey sky above him, but he somehow _felt_ everything around him. He felt the aura of death that not long ago choked these lands, the many lives, both old and young, lost pointlessly. He felt the monsters that roamed here not long ago, their very steps leaving scars on the ground. Most of them had been of this world but twisted into beast-like bodies and minds. They were turned against their own kin. And some were…

Quiet felt anger burning in him.

Spawns of Anu. They dared raise a hand against his world! They came and slaughtered all, even those who couldn't fight! How dare they?! How dare they call themselves different from the Spawns of Tathamet, when they commit the same atrocities against all of Creation?! He reached out with his powers, touching, feeling out the damage dealt to his beloved world. With each scar found his rage grew.

The Firstborn… he had a hand in this, Quiet knew. That accursed Spawn of Anu had always meddled into his life. Where was he?! He would pay for all this, he would—

Quiet blinked and the grey sky melted away. Where did this come from, this anger, this "Firstborn" and "Spawn of Anu" nonsense? What was a tathamet, even? He shook his head in confusion, the strange rage quickly subsiding in him. Sitting up, he finally looked around and found himself in a strange, greyscaled, large court room. Quiet got the distinct feeling that this place should have been gold, not greyish brown.

In front of him, stood a huge figure, much bigger than Leendonn. His size reminded Quiet of Zaboul and that in return made him nervous. The being was in shiny armor with intricate patterns and had absolutely **huge** wings of blue light tendrils that constantly waved around. He held a large majestic sword with a light blue source of light in its center.

\- You should be still down there – the figure finally said.

He had no face, like Quiet, only a white hood with a bottomless darkness. Yet the small angel immediately recognized his voice from past dreams.

\- Why are you up here? – the figure looked at Quiet, and was almost certainly frowning. – Nobody said you could leave.

\- I did no leeeeve – Quiet blinked up at the large man, marveling at his wings. He hoped one day his own wings would be this big. – I'm with Leendonn!

\- You will only bring trouble – the hooded angel growled. – You have always done so.

\- But I want to be good – Quiet insisted, getting angry at the accusation. – Leendonn said he will teach me to be good!

\- You cannot be "good"! – the figure boomed at him. – You are incapable of doing things right!

\- You are wrong! – Quiet shouted at the large man, his little wings perking up and trying to look big. – I **will** be good! I will!

The hooded angel leaned forward, towering over Quiet.

\- That is a bold claim for a being like you – he growled angrily. – Ina—

\- _Quiet!_

The little angel turned his head around at the familiar call. The large figure froze over him completely.

\- Leendonn! – Quiet shouted back, greatly relieved.

Thank goodness! This dream was getting really weird.

It even got weirder when he began to fly wildly in one direction, completely against his will.

oooOOOooo

\- You have a _what_?!

\- Tyrael, I can't answer you differently for the fifth time. I have a **baby angel** on me, okay?!

Getting the shell-shocked fallen angel to actually get up from the chair and follow Lyndon to their bedroom was a borderline miracle at this point.

\- There is no such thing as a "baby" angel, Lyndon! Young fetchlings that need to grow a bit, yes, but not _babies_!

\- Well then, I shall happily await your explanation for this – Lyndon called over his shoulder, carefully stepping into their bedroom.

On the bed, Quiet turned himself into a bundle of sleeping peace and blanket, so tight that literally only the top of his head was visible. The scoundrel gently lifted him up from the bed and turned to Tyrael, slowly pulling aside the cover to reveal the white hair, the bottomless "face" and the little gold-ruby tiara on the forehead. Tyrael's expression grew even more hilarious. He stared at the peacefully sleeping Quiet for a good five minutes without moving.

\- And he even has wings – Lyndon finally offered. – He's definitely an angel. Why is he so small then?

-… Where did you get him? – Tyrael mumbled, not turning his eyes away from the little bundle.

He was still in shock, but now it almost felt like it was for a different reason. Lyndon slightly frowned in confusion at this.

\- That's a funny story, Tyrael – the scoundrel said slowly. – I found him in the Realm of Hatred when Johanna dragged us down there to find Mephisto and kill him again.

\- Realm of…?

\- Yeah, capital of the Burning Hells, all that lovely stuff – Lyndon nodded, gently settling Quiet back down onto the bed. – There was this huge room, absolutely massive, filled with—

\- Mirrors.

-… How did you know? – now it was Lyndon's turn to stare in disbelief.

Tyrael took a sharp breath, still staring at the little angel:

\- Continue.

-… Oookay? So he was chained down, with hooks that stretched out his skin. It was gruesome, really. Oh and he was big, not Imperius-big but still big – Lyndon went on uncertainly. – He was in a pretty miserable shape so I tried to calm him down, assuring him that help was on the way. And… here's the weird part… I touched him and he just… blew up.

\- Blew up?!

\- Into a million sparks that gathered together into some small light dumpling thing on my lap that was solid enough to grab. So I hid him in my pouch and got him out of there. That's the short version, really.

Tyrael took another sharp breath. Was something wrong with him?

\- What did he say was his name?

\- Nothing – Lyndon shrugged. – In that mirror hall, he was in no condition to talk. Then when he got this small body, which I still have no idea how happened exactly, he couldn't recall it and started crying instead. So I named him Quiet.

Tyrael began massaging his templates, staring before himself in terror.

\- Oh no – he mumbled, voice rising slowly. – No no no no no…

\- What's wrong, Tyrael? – Lyndon looked at him worryingly. – Do you know him or something? I mean he is an angel, so maybe—

\- Lyndon, you have no idea what you have just done! – the fallen angel glared at him in desperate anger.

\- Wha—what?!

\- This is Inarius! Traitor to the High Heavens, Creator of Sanctuary, The Eraser of your world!

* * *

 **Holy shit, is Tyrael actually having a LIFE there?! Really?!**

 **You know... I have seen many things in the Diablo fandom. Some I wish I could forget. BUT! I personally have never really come around anything that talked about or showed Tyrael getting a normal girlfriend. I've read stuff where he gets together with the Nephalem hero, sure, but somehow, a girl (or boy, whatever rocks your boat man, I don't care) from the ordinary folk has never come up. Which I find... weird, to be honest. I feel like a simple human with a simple life would be the BEST help for poor Tyrael to finally calm down, settle down, and find his place in the world.**

 **Dunno, it's just me.**

 **Also, how many chapters did it take for Lyndon to finally, FINALLY learn Quiet's real name? 18? Damn, dude, you need to read more books! And stick to a fucking section that you have already started! It's not that hard.**

 **Yeah, I know, Inarius wasn't exactly an "Eraser of Worlds" back in the good old days, but you've gotta admit, "Wanna-be Eraser" just sounds lackluster, honestly... So I had to ditch that.**

 **Let the shit hit the fan!**

 **Again!**

 **Keep being awesome, cupcakes! ^^**


	19. Chapter 19

**_Chapter 19_**

Quiet woke with a start and began crying almost immediately.

Lyndon couldn't really blame him, after all the scoundrel was currently flinging him wildly around, holding him high up in the air, far away from Tyrael who decided to go nuts on this fine evening.

\- Tyrael, what the hell are you talking about? – Lyndon shouted over the wailing.

\- He's dangerous! He's a madman! He must be dealt with now, before he—!

\- Fuck off, man! You are **not** touching him!

\- Lyndon, you have no idea what he is capable of! I **saw** it! I **know** him, damn it!

\- Okay, I admit that the world-warping powers are a bit weird, that's true but—

\- World-warping powers?! – Tyrael echoed almost hysterically, grabbing his bald head in terror.

Lyndon cursed himself for bringing up that topic right in this chaotic moment.

\- Are you out of your _mind_?! – the fallen angel's voice was definitely higher-pitched at this point, promptly spurring Quiet into an even louder crying. – You saw him change the world around you in an impossible way, and you were _okay_ with that?!

\- Aren't you angels supposed to be strong in magic?! How the hell should I know that this thing is not common among your ranks?!

\- Did you see anyone, **anyone** at all using such powers at the Battle of the Silver City?!

\- Hell no, but we didn't exactly tour around the whole damn thing, if you recall. We were kind of in a hurry to reach that damned Arch before it got turned into a heap of useless glass!

\- Angels don't have such powers, not even the Angiris Council! Lyndon, you are **literally** holding a world-destroying time-bomb—

\- What the hell, Tyrael?! This is a kid! A toddler, basically! He couldn't even talk until I taught him. What is your—

\- Leeeeeeendonnnn! – Quiet wailed, helplessly flailing in the scoundrel's hands, absolutely disoriented.

\- SHUT UP, INARIUS! – Tyrael yelled, actually _yelled_ at the small angel.

Immediately something snapped in Lyndon. He crushed Quiet against his chest in a protective way, then kicked Tyrael in the stomach, sending him tumbling backwards slightly. It was meant as more of a warning than an actual attack.

\- You will **not** talk to him this way, Tyrael – Lyndon boomed in a strong voice, blazing green eyes kept on the fallen angel, while one hand gently patted the sniffling Quiet's head. – Do you understand me?! You have no idea of the dangers we went through, of all the **shit** I had to face in order to keep him safe up to this point! You will not lay a finger on him, or so help me God…

Tyrael stared at him, and Lyndon allowed the green fire to die out in his eyes.

\- What has happened to you? – breathed the fallen angel.

\- Many, many things – the scoundrel frowned at him. – We came here exactly because I was told you could help us. I intend to tell everything, but only if you _listen_. Are we clear?!

Tyrael took a deep, shaky breath, glaring daggers at the two of them.

\- We are so going to die because of you, Lyndon – he finally said. – But whatever! Talk. This ought to be… _interesting_ …

oooOOOooo

 _Inarius_

Quiet clinged to Leendonn for dear life, mind still reeling from the sudden and rude awakening, the shouting match of the grown-ups, and now… this name. It was his name. He recognized it now that he heard it. Yet…

 _Inarius_

He tried to utter it in his native language, but only a weak mewl came out, causing Leendonn to reassuringly pat his head as they walked after the angry bald man Teeriel. Yet another name Quiet felt like he needed to pay more attention to, only it was suddenly forced into the background by this new one.

 _Inarius_

It didn't feel right. Quiet had vowed to find his true name, but this… this wasn't it. It **should** have been it, though! The little angel silently wept in misery, face buried in Leendonn's shirt. It was so close! So damn close! But he was **not** Inarius! It didn't sound right. It told him nothing. Who was he then?!

 _Nobody_

Quiet gulped down his anger. No, he would not settle for that. He can and **will** find his own name. In time.

In time.

oooOOOooo

Angry humming came from Quiet, and Lyndon gently shushed him, as they followed Tyrael back into the library, hauling Cain's Codex along. The scoundrel couldn't really blame the child for being angry, that had to be one hell of an unpleasant awakening back there. Only now he couldn't allow the little angel to blow up the entire house in his grumpiness. They had been lucky enough that Quiet didn't automatically summon his weird powers while being jolted out of sleep.

That would have thrown a wrench into the plan of "calming Tyrael down".

Seriously, what was the guy's problem, anyway?! This world had seen civil wars, conquests, rises and falls of empires. It had been invaded by the Prime Evils… scratch that, by **all** the Evils, almost all at once. Hell, this was the place where the single Prime Evil was born, ultimately…

 _Adria had not suffered enough for that._

Still, after all that, after Malthael's reign of terror, Tyrael freaks out over a baby angel who can barely talk, calling him the Eraser of Sanctuary.

Sanctuary still stood, what the hell had gotten into the fallen angel?!

Back in the library, Lyndon placed the codex onto a table.

\- Here you go – he grumbled, throwing himself down onto one of the chairs. – Guess it will help you more than it would help me, huh?

\- I cannot believe you have had the answer right in front of you this whole time and you didn't bother to read it! – Tyrael retorted angrily, opening the book and furiously turning through the pages like a madman.

\- Try going through the shit we have done **and** read in the meantime, then come and lecture me! – Lyndon spat.

He hated lectures. He really did.

Honestly, just half an hour ago, they had hit such a friendly and amiable tone with each other, something the scoundrel would have never thought was possible between him and the awkwardly rigid mortal angel. It was frustrating to see that sudden common ground evaporate. Even more frustrating that he couldn't even comprehend the reason behind it.

\- Are you even going to listen what I have to tell, or are you just going to keep throwing a hissy fit over there until the sun comes up?! – Lyndon grumbled.

\- Not before enlightening you about the very thing you are carrying around! – Tyrael glared at him, still looking through the book.

\- Quiet is not a _thing_ – the scoundrel hissed, eyes flashing up again. – He's an angel! Aren't you all related?! How can you talk about a brother of yours in this tone?!

For a second, Tyrael actually stopped in his mad thumbing through the codex and he stared before himself with a blank expression. That quickly melted away however, and the man frowned down at the book.

\- Not every angel deserves the title "brother" – he finally said.

\- Oh, you mean Imperius and Malthael, _right_?!

\- I meant Izual, actually.

\- That guy was a demon, he doesn't count.

\- He had been an angel.

\- Quiet still **is** one!

\- You have no idea about him – Tyrael spat, reading something with disdain. – I cannot believe it's not in here! Damnit, Cain!

He angrily closed the book with a _thud_ , and glared at Lyndon.

\- Inarius had gone mad from power during his time here – he said. – He bound himself to the Worldstone and played god. He made sure that the Nephalem became weaker with each generation. Then a group of humans, led by Uldyssian, rebelled against his influence. Uldyssian was winning against him, and Inarius in his mad despair wanted to completely destroy Sanctuary, raze everything and begin anew.

\- Then you and the Hells came, with the exact same goal – Lyndon retorted softly, eyes narrowing.

Tyrael fell silent for a second.

\- Zoltun Kulle was an annoying baggage, but an informative one – Lyndon shrugged nonchalantly, cuddling Quiet closer who kept his face hidden in his shirt. – He told us how literally everyone wanted this world dead. But then Uldyssian banished all of you, and sacrificed himself to save Sanctuary.

\- That act changed our hearts in the Angiris Council – Tyrael nodded uneasily.

\- Three out of five.

\- Enough to save your world.

\- And then? What happened? How did this Inarius end up in the Realm of Hatred?

-… He was given to Mephisto, as a bargain chip – Tyrael said slowly. – In return he agreed to keep himself and his brothers out of Sanctuary.

\- Yeah, that happened – Lyndon snorted.

\- Yes. That is why later I had to step in and create the Horadrim to save this world. Again.

A moment of silence came again, broken by Lyndon:

\- You are not telling me everything, are you? – he narrowed his eyes slightly.

\- I told you everything important – Tyrael dismissed the accusation. – You have literally let out this dangerous madman from his prison and let him loose upon this world!

Lyndon was about to retort but he felt a slight tug on his shirt.

\- Leendonn? – Quiet asked timidly, looking up at him with large red eyes. – I'm tired…

\- You want to go back to sleep, firefly?

\- Yes… Why are you so loud?

\- It's nothing, Quiet, we are just having a… _discussion_ – Lyndon glanced up at Tyrael. – If I take you back to the room, can you go back to sleep on your own?

\- I'm skerrd.

\- It's okay, firefly, there is nothing wrong.

\- Bald man skerry.

\- He sure is – Lyndon let go of a half-smile, smirking up at the frowning fallen angel.

He got up from his chair, cuddling the small child close.

\- Come on, Quiet. You will be asleep in no time.

Lyndon spared one last glance at Tyrael, on his way out of the library.

\- "Dangerous madman", huh? – he hissed.

oooOOOooo

\- Out of all the people, I thought that the scoundrel would know not to trust anyone at first glance! – Tyrael snorted from across the table, arms crossed.

Upon returning from putting Quiet to sleep, Lyndon and the fallen angel resumed their argument.

\- First glance?! I have been carrying him around for **weeks** now! If you'd just let me tell what the hell happened!

\- Oh, don't worry, I want to hear how exactly you have managed to let that lunatic back in here.

\- For fuck's sake, Tyrael, Quiet is a **child**! Okay?! A baby, basically. I had to teach him everything, even how to dress up! – Lyndon almost shouted, slamming the table with his fists.

Tyrael just snorted again, rolling his eyes and making a dismissive gesture with his hand.

\- Talk then – he finally said, relinquishing himself to his "Archangel of Justice" roots.

So Lyndon did just that, albeit grudgingly. He recounted all the crazy twists they had had to live through up to this point: Johanna's apparent madness, the matter-altering powers of Quiet, the seven Jade figures who helped them out, however briefly, and the terrible state of Kingsport, topped off by the Lord of Wrath, Zaboul. Tyrael was honestly surprised that the monster made it to Sanctuary, and did not take this news well, even if the damned thing had been killed. However, if the fallen angel could play this game, so could Lyndon. He left out certain moments, his growing and absolutely weird powers, his showdown with Rea (he still had nightmares of it), the friendly Treasure Goblin Luther, and Quiet's brief but murderous rampage at that noble's estate.

Had he told that last bit, he knew Tyrael would want to behead Quiet right where he stood, out of "caution".

By the time all this was done, the sun had come up and already completed a good chunk of its journey. Tyrael worryingly brooded on his chair, mulling over Lyndon's words.

\- I do not like this – he finally said, his former anger finally evaporating.

\- Yeah, no shit. I'd be surprised if you did…

\- Lesser Lords of Hell on Sanctuary, without our knowledge? The Nephalem Hero losing her focus? What is going on?

\- You are the Heaven-sent scholar, shouldn't you know? – Lyndon tiredly rubbed his eyes, feeling the sleepless night's effects already.

\- I only knew about the Prophecy of the End days, and Belial's and Azmodan's plans – Tyrael shook his head. – Now that we overcame that… at least partially, I do not know what to expect anymore.

\- Wait… _partially_? – Lyndon's eyes snapped open, glaring at the angel. – What do you mean "partially"?!

\- Two lines are yet to be fulfilled from the prophecy – Tyrael blinked at him. – "Valor shall turn to Wrath" and "As Fate lies shattered forever."

-… You mean Imperius and Itherael.

\- Considering how all the other lines were about the Angiris Council as well, yes, that is more than likely.

-… Damnit! – Lyndon cried out, throwing himself backwards and almost falling over with the chair. – I thought we were done with that shitstorm! What does it take to finally be over and done with the End Days, seriously?!

\- I don't know – Tyrael sighed. – Although I'm not sure if we interpret those lines correctly.

\- Is there another way to them?!

\- Why, yes, actually. Except for these two apparently, everything else happened just in the order as they were written down. What if, these two also happened as well, when they were supposed to?

\- You didn't tell me Itherael fell apart.

\- Because he didn't. I meant it in a different way – Tyrael massaged his forehead. – Think about it. Remember, how enraged Imperius had been during the Battle of the Silver City.

\- As much as I hate the guy, I cannot really blame him for that.

\- But he was also impossible to reason with and calm down. Just like Wrath.

\- You mean, Imperius might have been "Wrath" during that battle?

\- Yes.

\- And what of Itherael? He seemed fine, last time I saw him.

\- Itherael had foreseen the end of the Eternal Conflict, closing with the ultimate defeat of the Angelic Host. He confided this in me, once we were done with that harrowing mess – Tyrael explained. – It had been a certainty, he told me. But now that it had been averted…

\- Fate was actually "shattered", as in altered completely – Lyndon finished, catching on.

\- Exactly. So… it could be that the Prophecy was completely fulfilled. I cannot say for sure – Tyrael shrugged.

\- But… all the other lines turned out to be taken quite **literally** – the scoundrel frowned. – Why are these two so different? Why is the Fate part out of chronological order, if everything else follows the list?

\- Those are what give me a burning sense of doubt – the angel sighed. – It is partially the reason why I wish to revive the Horadrim. Maybe they will mean the difference between life and death in the future. Just like they did in the past.

Lyndon was about to say something, when…

\- Leendonn?

Both men turned towards the door of the library in unison. There stood Quiet, uncertainly holding up a tray that was filled with fruits and a few slices of bread. It was hard to tell where he had gotten that food, possibly conjured it up himself. He shuffled awkwardly up to the table and placed the tray on its surface, tippy-toeing.

\- Hungry? – he asked in a low voice.

\- Thank you, Quiet – Lyndon smiled earnestly at the child, quickly kissing him on the head and taking a large apple from the plate. – It's just the breakfast we needed.

Tyrael shot him a warning look, no doubt trying to dissuade him from eating the food. Lyndon replied with a defiant and annoyed glare, and he took a large bite out of the apple.

Nothing. Of course, the scoundrel knew that well.

\- Did you sleep well, firefly? – he asked, swallowing the fruit and pulling up Quiet onto his lap.

-… No.

\- Don't worry, tonight will be much better, I promise.

Lyndon seemingly accidentally pushed the tray towards Tyrael with his elbow, and only his smoldering glance betrayed his intentions. The fallen angel frowned at him, but eventually caved in and uncertainly took a pear and a loaf of bread. After realizing he would not die from the first bite, he grudgingly scarfed it down, finally heeding the call of his empty stomach.

\- What did I tell you on the journey, how to introduce yourself? – Lyndon glanced down at his charge, gently nudging him.

-… Hello. I'm Quiet – mumbled the little angel, barely audibly.

\- Stop playing games. You are Inarius – Tyrael stated, annoyed.

\- No – it was a soft reply, but surprisingly firm. Quiet's red eyes flashed up for a second. – I am no—not.

\- This _lovely gentleman_ here is Tyrael – Lyndon quickly interrupted, fighting the urge to fling the tray and all of its content into the man's face for that. – He is that angel who has no wings. You know, the one I told you about. As you can see, he is very rude and is being an ass currently. Don't try to be like him.

\- Lyndon – Tyrael growled slightly.

\- And he doesn't have a sense of humor, he cannot laugh. See? That is also a bad thing.

Quiet looked at Tyrael for long, before stating:

\- You are like Im—Ipe—Imperiuss. Angry all the time.

The fallen angel's face made Lyndon wish yet again for that recording device.

* * *

 **Can you guys feel the brotherly love? It brings a tear to my eye...**

 **So sorry guys, for taking so long with this one! I've been a bit overwhelmed with the Uni work, and other stuff, and it's still not fully over, so I'm not sure how fast I can write this story. Also, for some reason, it was a nightmare to pin this very simple chapter down. Guess I'm not the best at arguments... like, anywhere, really.**

 **Anyway, thank you for being so patient with me. ^^ I really appreciate you cupcakes, and feel free to call me out on a shitty writing, if I fuck up a chapter in some way. I can't promise that I will rewrite it (maybe) but I WILL pay more attention to the mistake(s) in the next installment, for sure!**

 ** **Keep being awesome!****

 **Smaller trivia: the part where Tyrael shouts that "it's not in here", is actually true. He is referring to Inarius' escalating madness and megalomania that was present throughout the Sin War trilogy. I based this fanfic's Book of Cain on the ACTUAL Book of Cain, published by Blizzard. In that book, it is only stated that when Inarius lost against Uldyssian, he realized the devastating potential of the Nephalem he had created, and as a result began to panic. There was not even a peep about him being mad.**


	20. Chapter 20

**_Chapter 20_**

True to his word to Leendonn, Quiet did not sleep well at all. After his friend put him back to bed, Quiet spent a good chunk of the time rolling from one side to the next, unable to stop thinking. He kept going back to the name "Inarius", and how familiar, yet unfitting it sounded to him. It was so frustrating, there were no words to express it! Quiet knew he had to move on, and focus on finding his real name then, but it was easier said than done.

He also worried about that angry bald man. Who was he? Why was he so angry? Leendonn said they would go meet another angel, one without wings. This dark skinned huuman didn't look like an angel to him. Maybe they would meet him later? Leendonn and the bald man argued a lot, mentioning a lot of unfamiliar names, and it looked like the man was angry with Quiet as well. The little angel couldn't fathom the reason behind it. He was sure he had never seen the huuman before. He thought the guy's name was Teeriel, but he couldn't be sure anymore. Among so many other names, like Zoltankooll (huumans had such ugly names, honestly), Uld—Uld—something (that one was too long to memorize) and Mefeesto (that name just sounded **bad** ), Quiet had a hard time keeping track of who was who.

For the time being, he simply gave up. He would straighten things out later.

Once he finally fell asleep, he thankfully got a few hours of dreamless rest, before waking up to the sunlight and the rising buzzing of the city beyond the house. Quiet sat on his bed for a good while, thinking about what to do next, trying to use what Leendonn had taught him during their travels. The bald man was clearly angry and mean to them, but he didn't attack them. Soooo, it was safe to say that Quiet wasn't supposed to attack him either. The little angel thought back on what his friend told him. Besides of how to hurt people without killing them, or how to scare them away or sneak past them, Leendonn showed him a lot of things on to talk to strangers. How to greet others and introduce himself to them, how to be kind and say nice things.

Maybe, if he was nice to the bald angry man, he would be nice too?

Quiet remembered that Leendonn always ate something during the morning. All huumans did. That gave him an idea, finally prompting him to hop off from his bed and scuttle downstairs into the big room with the many books and papers. In the meantime, he conjured out a wooden tray from a cupboard he passed by, and asked fruit to grow out of its form. He also added some bread to the mix and offered it to Leendonn and the bald man. His friend happily accepted him and said "thank you", but the bald man eyed the fruit suspiciously. Did he not like fruit? Quiet thought everyone liked fruit.

Eventually, the bald man took some too and began eating as well. Quiet thought that was a good sign.

\- Hello… I'm Quiet – he introduced himself, at Leendonn's nudging.

\- Stop playing games. You are Inarius – the bald man retorted.

Something flashed up inside Quiet, a flash of anger.

\- No. I am no—not – he grumbled back at the accusation.

He was not Inarius! Why did the bald man insist that he was?! Who was the huuman even, knowing this name? As if he knew everything better! Bah!

\- This _lovely gentleman_ here is Teeriel – Leendonn told him quickly, earning an angry growl from the bald man. – He is that angel who has no wings. You know, the one I told you about. As you can see, he is very rude and is being an ass currently. Don't try to be like him.

Oh… so this dark skinned man **was** the angel they were looking for. Well, damn. Quiet thought he would be nicer than this to a fellow angel.

\- And he doesn't have a sense of humor, he cannot laugh. See? That is also a bad thing.

Got that right.

Quiet decided that if this Teeriel could play the mean game, then so could he!

\- You are like Im—Ipe—Imperiuss. Angry all the time – he concluded, smiling at the funny face he got as a reply.

Leendonn laughed loudly at the comment, which encouraged the little angel. He happily fluttered his wings. His friend had such a nice laugh, it was a shame it was rarely heard. Maybe Quiet should do more to hear it more often…

oooOOOooo

This house was so **boring**.

Honestly, considering its size and all the rooms in it, that was an achievement.

After breakfast, Leendonn gently shepherded Quiet out of the big room with the lot of books and papers, and told him to find and do something fun while he and Teeriel "diskassed" some more. Quiet had no idea what that word meant, but from the context it was probably something akin to "arguing a lot".

That certainly didn't sound like fun.

At first he busied himself with discovering their new temporary home. So far they only stayed at innnnns which were overrun by strangers of all kinds. The rooms had not been all that comfortable either, although Leendonn always made sure that Quiet could sleep well. But now in this house Quiet saw no one, no matter how he looked. The rooms were well-kept, with good beds and tables and chairs and cupboards. These looked much nicer than what they were staying in before.

Still, the rooms were all empty, and as such, boring.

Quiet wandered down in the main hall and let his focus fall onto a row of tall wooden… uh, sticks? They were cylindrical, very thick and stood between the floor and the ceiling. It looked like they held something. Quiet happily bounced there, and unleashed his powers. The first, he shaped into a lovely tree with symmetrical branches that had leaves on them and they curved around in a nice pattern, almost like a large leaf and its nervation. Admittedly, the "stick" got a whole lot wider as a result, but Quiet figured there was enough room left to sidestep it with ease. The next one, he changed to metal, but kept the shape. The third, he turned into diamond and shaped it to look like a stretched out vase. He dutifully went through all the "sticks", changing them in some way, but making sure they still connected the ceiling and the floor together, and that they were made of something sturdy. Surely, they were holding the ceiling.

Quiet could feel the weight from the upper floors flowing into the sticks, and via them, into the ground eventually. Looking around, he could make out similar phenomenon on all of the thick stone walls of the house. Neat, he didn't even know he could see that! Quiet wondered if Leendonn could see it as well.

Once done with his series of masterpieces, Quiet bounced out onto the main courtyard. It was completely paved out with large flat stones, and it had a nice well in the middle of it, but other than that, it was absolutely empty.

Quiet decided to make something big this time. Something that would test his skills. So he stood there lost in thought, red eyes cast onto the pavement, one small hand supporting his chin. He fluttered his wings once… then twice… three times.

That was it!

Quiet happily chirped then crouched down, placed his palms on the ground and channeled his powers, envisioning his idea for the well.

oooOOOooo

It took Lyndon a couple of minutes to realize what this strange buzzing in his back was. Honestly, he had no idea until, somewhere from his subconscious perhaps, surfaced the memory: Quiet's powers had this effect on him. He had spent so much time around the little angel and watched over him when he was practicing during their travels, that Lyndon had developed a sense to it.

In all honesty, it had happened before. Besides Johanna, he had gotten used to pinpointing the Nephalem's aura, the foul influence of the demons that always told what Realm they belonged to. By the end of their shared adventure, Lyndon might as well closed his eyes and go after these senses alone, he wouldn't have missed a single shot. Granted, during his time avoiding Johanna's nagging, after Malthael's defeat, this sense degraded a bit, like a skill that wasn't used for long. He couldn't tell if every human would have experienced similar things, or was this yet another ability of his own (he already had a sixth sense after all). After all these weeks, he couldn't be sure about such things.

If Lyndon focused on the buzzing feeling, he could tell it was originating from somewhere outside the library, but still on the ground floor and inside the building. Whatever Quiet was doing, it was pretty big-scaled. Tyrael didn't show signs of noticing the little angel's machinations, so the scoundrel didn't rush to tell him either.

\- Tyrael, seriously, I got it the first time you said it had been a bad idea to get Inarius out of his cell – Lyndon sighed exhaustedly. – Can we move on, already?!

\- You do not look like you have understood the severity of the situation! I'm just trying to make you _see_! – Tyrael almost shrieked at him.

\- Listen, Tyrael! Myriam told me to seek you out because you can help us somehow, but I don't see that now! – Lyndon retorted. – She told me to keep Quiet safe no matter what happens. That means that if you so much as **think** about hurting him in some way, you will have to face me first! And believe me, I put up a hell of a lot more fight than I ever did before!

Tyrael glanced at him.

\- Your eyes – he mumbled, recalling the blazing green orbs. – I saw those… on Johanna, when she killed Malthael. Are you a—?

\- Maybe – Lyndon quickly interrupted, uneasily fidgeting on his chair. – I'm not sure. I'm definitely not as strong as Johanna, but… it's been weird, alright?

Tyrael's stare was longer this time.

\- The world is changing – he concluded finally, in a low voice. – I wonder how many others are out there like you.

\- I hope as few as possible – Lyndon snorted. – It wasn't exactly a joyride up to this point.

\- Yet you must learn to live with it.

\- What would you know about it?!

\- I'm a fallen angel, not a human, Lyndon. I know **all** about being different…

Awkward silence settled onto them. Lyndon actually stopped and thought about what Tyrael just said. It was true: the man no longer belonged to either side, really. He was mortal, but at the same time, he was purely angelic in origin, and as such, probably struggled with a lot of feelings and views that were normal or at least understandable to the half-blooded humans. The scoundrel slightly wanted to kick himself for that jerkish question just now.

He was about to somehow force at least half-apology out of himself when the library visibly darkened around them. Tyrael perked up and ran to the nearest window looking over the central courtyard, Lyndon close on his heels. The scoundrel realized he no longer felt Quiet's power coming from the building: it was, in fact, located in the yard now.

Looking out the window, the two men beheld a strange spectacle: the ground rose into a tall, roughly humanoid shape, barely shorter than the roof of the house, casting a large shadow straight at the library's wing. It towered over the well, leaving the crank and the attached bucket intact. Before their eyes, this mass began taking on a more defined shape: pieces of armor that slowly developed an incredible pattern of ornaments on them. Part of the ground seemingly melted, turning into something with a silky light, forming a loincloth that hung from between the plates on the hip. On the chest, two circular pieces held the multi-layered shoulder pads attached to the torso. The figure's head morphed into a hood (the stone taking up a textile-like texture there), with a bottomless darkness under it. From the back, rigid feather-like shapes emerged slowly, and from them, the ground suddenly turned to living plants of a pale color. These vines grew, twisted and turned and woven around each other, giving a majestically waving frame to the gigantic statue. Despite nearly the whole thing being made out of stone, its surface still had a strange, almost metallic shine to it, in a very muted, but still beautiful way.

Lyndon realized he was looking at an angel, clad in a divine armor typical of the High Heavens. Considering its appearance, it might have been a high-ranking one, even. At the base of the statue, Quiet sat on the ground, clearly spent but looking up at his masterpiece with great pride. Next to Lyndon, Tyrael completely froze to his spot, staring at the figure with large eyes.

\- Well… I did tell Quiet to go busy himself with something – the scoundrel sighed. – The house still stands at least, so—

\- That's me.

-… What?

\- That statue was me – Tyrael whispered, sucking in his breath sharply. – Tyrael, Archangel of Justice… before the fall.

oooOOOooo

Quiet breathed hard but felt incredibly proud as he gazed at his work. It was that angel he often sees in his dreams, only magnified. Although this guy was mostly grumpy in his dreams for one reason or another (what was that "you shouldn't be up here" thing about?), Quiet still looked up to him with awe. His wings were beautiful, large and constantly moved around freely. The little angel truly wished he will have such wondrous wings as well when he grows up. Not only that, but also he felt a sort of kinship to the figure, no matter how grumpy he always was.

He felt like something was missing from the statue, though. It was a small, nagging feeling, but as if a key part of the being was not shown. Hm, now what could that be…

\- Quiet! Quiet!

The little angel turned around at this, and smiled tiredly at Leendonn who was rushing to him across the courtyard.

\- Quiet, that's—Wow – his friend scooped him up into his arms and looked at the artwork.

Quiet felt his pride swell at the huuman's reaction. He did well, then!

\- I happy you like it! – he chirped, snuggling into the hug.

Teeriel also ventured outside, much slower, golden eyes kept on the statue.

\- You like it? – Quiet called out, wings flapping excitedly.

Teeriel looked at him, eyes only betraying shock. Maybe even hurt. Quiet's wing drooped at the sight.

\- You do no like it? – he asked again, in a much smaller voice this time.

\- Quiet, how did you know how Teeriel looked like when he still had his wings? – Leendonn looked down at him.

\- I did no—not know…

…

Did he?

While Quiet was pondering on this, Teeriel walked up to the statue slowly and reached out with his right hand. Among his fingers, light erupted and took up the form of a large sword with a blue source of light in the middle of its handle. Teeriel gently stood it on its pointy end and leant it against the base of the statue.

Oh of course, the sword! That was what was missing from the composition! How could Quiet forget? The grumpy angel always walked around with that in one hand.

Teeriel sighed heavily, then turned around and stormed out of the courtyard, disappearing in one of the doorways.

\- I did bad – Quiet whimpered, pulling his hood onto his head in shame.

Leendonn sighed as well, and gently rocked him, walking back inside and up to their room.

\- You did nothing bad, firefly. It is okay.

\- Teeriel angry.

\- He is not angry, he's just… – Leendonn gently said –, he is just sad.

That wasn't really a big improvement, now was it, Quiet thought bitterly. Being good was even harder than he originally thought…

* * *

 **D'awwwww, little baby angel is going to be an artist when he grows up! At least he understands that pillars are there to carry weight, bless his heart for not causing a cave-in. That would put Tyrael on edge, surely.**

 **I know there hasn't been much action as of late, but bear with me! Only a little bit to go, before shit will kick up again! Not sure how fast I can write these chapters. Like I've said, there are a lot of things going on at the same time. Thank you for your patience, cupcakes! ^^**

 **P.S.: I realized I secretly love fucking up names and writing them in dumbass ways. It is so much fun! Tremble in fear, all of Creation! Here I cooooommmeeee.**

 **Guest Review Reply**

 **PaulM: Darling, you are too kind! ^^ It would truly be an honor if Blizzard took notice of this little fanfic, I would probably melt on the spot. ;) Although I'm not sure about translating this to a game, since there ARE a lot of standing and talking around, with inner ANGST and shit. But knowing Blizzard, they could probably make something out of it.**


	21. Chapter 21

**_Chapter 21_**

Archangel of Justice trying to lie to himself, saying that everything was fine.

What a goddamn idiot!

Tyrael stormed along the main street of Westmarch, not even looking where he was going. He was too busy berating himself to pay attention.

Right, of course! Come live among humans, like they do. Try to organize a group of mages and warriors like in the old days, live with them, learn from them. That will help you fit in and find your place. As if! Tyrael didn't belong anywhere, and he would **never** belong anywhere. That was final.

He had _actually_ believed that he had gotten over his fall. That was just ridiculous. Of course he didn't. It was the right decision at that time, he knew that well, but despite that, there was no denying that he missed his former powers, his majesty, his nigh-untouchable might. He missed flying, he missed hearing sounds and seeing colors the human senses could not pick up. He missed the times when his siblings in the Council did not look at him like he was an abomination or a **mistake** even (oh, he knew they were thinking that, even Auriel seemed unsure about him now). He missed being able to banter with Imperius without being afraid of receiving lethal injuries in the process.

He missed being an angel.

Right now, Tyrael was nigh-completely **useless**. His inexperience with mortal life hindered him in all the tasks he should have been doing to help Sanctuary. He had almost no powers to call his own, except for a few measly abilities that did very little most of the time. He no longer had Chalad'ar or Itherael's foresight to know what to expect. Tyrael felt anger at his helplessness, but more importantly, at his own brethren. They had turned on him faster than he could blink, even after he had helped them repel the demonic siege on the Silver City. His own siblings no longer trusted a word he said.

 _Balzael_

Oh, how fast that little creep betrayed him! Tyrael had been the one to train him, so he wouldn't goddamn **die** from the first demon that came his way! Tyrael had been the sole reason Balzael had survived for so long, and even got elected into the Luminarei, the best of the best. But no. He left his court to serve Valor, then he tried to kill Tyrael, drugging him, humiliating him, doing everything he could to make sure the Black Soulstone stayed or fell into the wrong hands. His death had not been painful enough…

Tyrael shook his head, trying to reel himself in. Mortal emotions were so much more powerful than angelic ones, especially compared to his old self. As a being of Justice, and the clearest representation of it, Tyrael had always been very muted in the emotion department. He had been born with little to no feelings, for anyone or anything, in order to keep himself unbiased and as such, just. He hadn't been optimistic like Auriel, ever curios like Malthael in his glory days, worrying like Itherael, or blazing like Imperius. He had been more akin to moving a statue, than an actual living being.

 _Serving under me must have been hell…_

Hard to say that for sure now. When Uldyssian proved them all wrong, it awoken something inside him, and Tyrael thought he finally knew what emotions were. But as he fell, he was assaulted with a myriad of feelings, each so powerful that they short-circuited his brain and no doubt played a big role in making him lose his memories temporarily. He had thought Imperius was the brazen and impulsive one, but Valor was a **candle** next to what inferno a few passionate humans could start up.

Tyrael threw himself down on a random bench besides the main street and buried his face into his hands, letting out a defeated sigh. He had been lying to himself up to this point, but now Inarius… Quiet, or however the hell he called himself now, voluntarily or involuntarily forced him to face his regrets and uncertainties. His little brother had always been a sly trickster: perhaps this stunt of his was to throw Tyrael off his balance.

Well… it worked. Well played, Inarius.

Tyrael felt like he should be panicking about the angel's presence, and how big of a hold he actually had over Lyndon. Was the scoundrel bewitched? He had been a professional con man, no way a mere trick could work this well on him. Worse yet, according to Lyndon's slip-up about those "world-altering abilities", Inarius somehow retained at least certain parts of the Worldstone's power. How did that happen?! Inarius had been absolutely powerless once Uldyssian managed to break his link to the stone. Everyone believed that was the end of the story.

Then again, Inarius had an impressive track record of baffling all of Creation and going headlong against every prediction Itherael or even Malthael could come up with. There had always been something strange and unique about him, a trait that either off-put or attracted those who come in contact with it. Tyrael had been the former category, but many, oh so many had chosen to follow him out of their own free will. Perhaps Lyndon was drawn in by that very, nameless trait. Inarius did have fanatic followers in the past as well.

One of them had been Hephasto, that poor idiot…

Yet despite all this, despite the possible looming danger of this megalomaniac, absolutely insane seraphim being let loose upon the unsuspecting world, Tyrael couldn't find the strength in himself to panic or take action or do… do anything, really. His entire being was paralyzed by the crushing sadness he felt upon looking at his former majestic self, he just couldn't get himself to worry about anything else.

In his inner struggle he finally lifted his head and realized where he ended up: literally opposite of the biggest hospital in Westmarch. The pristine building's expensive stone walls were painted white, a great contrast against the usual dark hue of the city. It had a small but well-kept flower garden running before its walls, only leaving the entrance and its stairs free. On its left wing, it even had creeping ivy give an extra dressing to the walls. Tyrael could see into one of the windows, make out blurry shapes moving around.

Sophie was in there, or perhaps on her lunch break right now. The fallen angel was so bewitched by her that even in his misery he sought out her presence.

 _Do not close yourself off from this chance, just because it brings something new into your life. Go for it!_

Lyndon might be right. Tyrael should open himself up to this chance. After all, he couldn't recall a single instance from his past life where a being filled him such emotions and determination, like Sophie did. Tyrael thought about what a strange yet satisfying inner goading it was to make her laugh and smile as much as possible. He was literally incapable of being sad or uninterested around her: her curiosity, her love for life was infectious. When she was happy, he was happy, when she was sad, he wanted to do everything in his power and beyond to cheer her up, when—

… Oh no. By Anu, Sophie was in _danger_!

Tyrael felt his blood freeze up at this sudden realization, the gentle feelings torn apart by fear. Quiet's presence meant grave danger to all of Sanctuary… to **Sophie**. Tyrael sprung up from the bench, scaring the pigeons that started to gather around him.

He had to do something to save her, he had to—!

\- Tyrael?

He spun around, every muscle ready to pounce at the danger.

\- So—Sophie? – he blinked in confusion, his adrenaline-filled brain needed a few moments to process what he saw before himself.

The woman stood right in front of him, holding up a tray of bread full of lard and a few pieces of cooked bacon. Oh, so she **was** on her lunch break.

\- Everything alright? – she asked, worryingly seizing up her boyfriend. – You look haunted.

\- Sophie, I—! – Tyrael grabbed her free hand with both of his hands. – There might be horrible danger on the horizon. You must leave Westmarch now!

\- What—what are you talking about?!

\- Please, believe me. Is there a relative of yours whom you can go to? Far away from here?!

\- Tyrael—

\- I am not sure where is truly safe, but perhaps the more distance the better—

\- Tyrael! – Sophie cried out, eyes angrily flashing up.

She could be very sparky when needed, a useful tool against thick-skulled patients in her field of work. It was also effective on Tyrael, who immediately snapped into a stand-to out of instinct, standing straight and rigid, hands pressed against his sides, eyes attentively kept on the woman, almost shouting "Yes ma'am!".

It took them an awkward moment of pause for Tyrael to realize his stance, and he quickly took on a looser one.

\- I— – he stammered, feeling his face heating up.

It always happened when he was around Sophia. Maybe it was yet another symptom of this predica— _chance_ he found himself in.

\- Tyrael, you are not making any sense – Sophie scowled at him, shepherding him back to the bench and sitting down with him. – Slow down, please! What danger are you talking about?

Tyrael took a big breath, trying to calm himself down.

\- I… _believe_ an ancient enemy has returned to Sanctuary. Older than everything else here. I fear he will want to take his vengeance out on this world, maybe even erase it from existence… I think.

\- You think.

\- Yes, he's, uhm…

Wait, now he was supposed to tell her that it was a _baby angel_ they were talking about?!

\- Wait, you met this enemy? – Sophie's eyes widened. –Did he attack you?! Are you injured?! Let me see!

\- Wha—no, no, I am well, really! – Tyrael backpedaled as the woman anxiously began fussing over him. – Nothing happened, we just… talked.

-… Really? – Sophie asked, instinctively clasping her free hand with Tyrael's.

\- Yes, I mean… I talked with his, uhm… caretaker.

\- Caretaker?

\- More like guardian, maybe. Since he himself cannot really talk yet, so…

-… Is this "enemy" a child?

\- Yes, how did you know? – Tyrael looked at Sophie with sincere bewilderment.

The couple blinked at each other, holding hands, sitting on a bench. From far away, it even looked idyllically romantic, and only from up close did the absolute surprise show on both sides.

\- So… this world-eraser enemy is just a child? – Sophie tried to sum up.

-… I think so, yes. It is incredibly strange, such thing should not exist… yet here he is – Tyrael helplessly scratched his head.

\- And you could talk to him and his caretaker – Sophie stated, dead serious.

\- Yes.

\- Without getting attacked.

\- Yes…?

-… Are you sure you are not… I don't know, mixing up this "enemy" with this kid?

\- No! Definitely not! I know him well! I mean—I knew him **before** he turned into a child – Tyrael stammered before giving up and slumping forward. – Look, it is complicated, alright?

\- What is his name?

\- Right now, he calls himself Quiet for some reason. But originally he was called Inarius.

\- That… doesn't sound like a demonic name.

\- That is because he is an angel.

-… An angel child? That… that sounds adorable, actually – Sophie blinked, musing aloud.

\- Sophie! – Tyrael glared at her.

\- What?

\- Inarius is incredibly dangerous! He is the **farthest** thing from _adorable_!

Sophie remained silent for a second, deep in thought.

\- Will he spare you if you talk to him again? – she finally asked, staring before herself.

\- Yes, he will – Tyrael frowned in confusion. – Why?

\- And are you certain… absolutely **certain** that he is here to destroy everything?

Tyrael wanted to say "yes", but he couldn't. Lying was nigh-impossible for him, just like certain people could not touch their toes, simply because they were born with less flexibility. He realized he wasn't sure about that question, and this scared him. Inarius had been a megalomaniac paranoid nerve-wreck who had been afraid of the very thing he himself created. Of course he would want to destroy it all!

… Also, Inarius had **not** been known for having the average height of a table, for being so clingy to a human (or anyone else), for preparing breakfast for others, for playing around just for the heck of it… or for being so shy and clearly lost.

\- I… I do not know – Tyrael mumbled, completely defeated. – Last time, it had been his goal, yes, but… I am not sure about now.

\- Is it possible that he changed? That he can be negotiated with? – Sophie asked, gently stroking the large hand.

… Was it? Things **did** look different than last time, Tyrael could not deny that.

\- I… honestly do not know – he finally admitted, not even realizing the soft strokes grounded him enough to think things through. – He is vastly different than last time, I have to admit.

\- Perhaps it would be wise to try and talk with this Inarius, no? – mused Sophie. – You've been fighting with so many foes, you know them well. But if you are not sure about this one, then perhaps we can avoid violence this time. Sanctuary had suffered enough, a possible peaceful solution for this next threat would be most welcome. Maybe if we do not attack him, he will not attack us. He is an angel, is he not?

\- Malthael had been an angel as well.

\- You told me he became "something else" in his pursue of human souls – Sophie pointed out.

Tyrael just sighed deeply, not knowing how to respond to this. It was true. Malthael had been able to go into the ruins of Corvus, a place that was shielded both from demons and angels. The spells only allowed Tyrael in because they weren't sure about him.

Not even security statues could decide what he was. That was just sad…

\- You should try to keep things peaceful – Sophie urged him. – As long as he is not openly hostile, you shouldn't provoke him. Try to talk to him, see why he is here.

\- I am not sure of the success of this policy – Tyrael stared before himself worryingly –, but perhaps you are right. So far he has done nothing ominous, that is true.

\- Then, let us keep it that way? – Sophie stood up. – Do you need help with that? I can ask the head nurse to let me go early, and—

\- By Anu, no! – Tyrael cried out. – I do not want you anywhere close to him! Just because I am not sure about him, doesn't mean he's not dangerous.

The couple had an angry glare stare-off, but this one time, Tyrael refused to back down.

\- _Please_ – he asked, almost pleadingly.

\- Alright, alright – Sophie conceded, sighing deeply. – Just promise me you will try to resolve this problem peacefully. Mostly because I am so worried about you.

\- I… thank you, you are very kind – Tyrael blinked, quickly losing his ground from surprise.

Sophie smiled at him sincerely and worryingly.

\- Just, be careful, Tyrael – she quickly leant forward, planting a soft kiss on his nose.

Tyrael froze to his spot, so stunned he couldn't do a thing as Sophie rushed back inside the hospital, her lunch break long over.

oooOOOooo

It was safe to say that Lyndon's day was not exactly going on tracks.

He missed sleep entirely, had a half-a-day long argument with Tyrael, then he had to somehow comfort his charge who got mightily discouraged by Tyrael's reaction to his statue.

As they sat on the bed in their room, Quiet brooding in his lap, Lyndon was hard-pressed to explain the fallen angel's behavior to him.

\- He is just sad – the scoundrel tried to say.

\- He iz angry.

\- No, he is not angry. You see, Tyrael is… I think he just misses his old life – Lyndon reasoned, and as he said it out loud, he knew it was true. – He had been a large and powerful angel in the past. He could fly, he was strong, he could easily defeat monsters of all kinds.

\- Why he change?

\- The other angels did not let him to help us, so he chose to get rid of his wings, and turn into human, in order to fight by our side against a big army of monsters that came to destroy our world.

Quiet thought for a moment.

\- Teeriel is good. Right? – he finally concluded.

\- Yes, he is very good – Lyndon smiled slightly. – He has his own flaws, and can be very annoying—

\- Like Imperriuss?

\- Like Imperius, exactly. But he is still a good guy, and tries to help as many people as he can.

Quiet looked like he was trying to say something, but instead he closed his eyes and tilted his head back a little. Lyndon knew he was yawning. The angel had spent much of his strength on that large statue in the courtyard.

\- Come on, let's take a nap, firefly – the scoundrel offered, lying down on the bed and cuddling his charge close to his chest. – We both need some rest.

Quiet didn't argue, he was asleep almost the moment he got into a horizontal pose. Lyndon wanted to follow his example, only he couldn't help but think about Tyrael's reaction to his former self. The scoundrel had never really thought about this before, but the moment he told Quiet, he knew this was the truth: Tyrael missed being an angel. Lyndon felt bad for never considering this before, for not talking about it with him (what could he do, honestly? Offer therapy, with his own broken life and shitty despicable past?). He couldn't even begin to imagine how hard it must have been to give up all that godlike power and join a life he understood nothing about. Tyrael was either absolutely mad, or the bravest being in Creation. Perhaps both.

Finally, however, exhaustion won over, and Lyndon fell asleep as well. Only to have a terrible dream.

He could barely keep track of the insanity that suddenly descended upon him. He was falling vertically, then suddenly horizontally, ruins of chambers and corridors shimmering in blue light zoomed past by him. He was walking, stumbling over some dark, almost pitch-black textile that lied in his path. He was bombarded with insane flashes of color. He felt hunted, multiply pairs of eyes trained on him, yet no matter how much he tried to look around, he couldn't see the pursuers. He felt unconcern weighing down on him like a lead net, while the world fell apart around him, and he knew this feeling came from someone else, yet it was hard to fight off. He saw flashes of light and color, yet they filled him with dread instead of hope.

\- **Why you?! Why not me?!** – roared a deep voice full of anger at him, and Lyndon had to duck from something huge sailing for his head.

This absolute insanity would have kept on going for who knows how long, but thankfully his own brain gave up trying to process it. Instead, Lyndon woke with a start, gasping for air. He found himself back in his bed, Quiet still snuggling and well asleep on his chest.

… Wait. Lyndon did not see Quiet in his vision!

The scoundrel took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before he would accidentally wake up his charge. He wrecked his brain, trying to make some sense out of that hail of images and sensations, but the more time he spent with them, more certain he was of his original observation. Quiet really was **not** there with him, whatever this madness may be in the future. Would they be separated? Something worse?!

Lyndon anxiously patted the little angel's head. He knew he could change the future he saw, foreseeing attacks in order to dodge them was his main trick, after all. Could he change this one? Was there a way he could make sure that the separation did not happen?

He did not see what caused the missing of Quiet, though. Unlike for incoming attacks, when he saw the angle, the speed and even the type of the weapon, now he had no idea how he would end up in that ruined (yet familiar) place, nor how he would get separated from Quiet.

What did Myriam say to him?

 _Vecin focus their sight and see the future by not losing track of it, and_ _ **forcing**_ _it to show and unravel itself, when we most need it._

Lyndon closed his eyes and tried to focus as much as possible, as angrily as possible. He tried to force his sixth sense to show the exact cause to that madness. For a while nothing happened, making Lyndon more and more frustrated. He was on the verge of having a mental argument with himself and cursing at his ability, when finally something gave away.

A flash of fire. A flash of sharp blue light.

What the hell was that?! What was he supposed to get from this?! Lyndon refused to back down, but despite his efforts, he only got these two lights, always in the same order, separated by a brief pause of nothingness. That was it. Lyndon angrily snarled as he finally gave up, opening his eyes.

The ceiling swam before him and an incredible wave of pain washed over him. He gasped, mouth being filled with bile as nausea took over out of the blue. He tried to sit up, but the entire room was dancing madly around him. His head rang and throbbed like someone was using it as an anvil. He thought he heard Quiet calling out to him, but he couldn't be sure. Lyndon flailed around helplessly, suddenly losing his control over his own limbs. He stumbled out of the bed and smacked hard into the floor, the pain in his head growing more and more terrible by the second. He stared at the floor as it spun around before his eyes, the pattern of the wood trying to twist around and take up shapes.

Lyndon was sure he was about retch, but the inky darkness of unconsciousness dragged him down under first.

* * *

 **HAA! I WON! FUCK YOU, WRITER'S BLOCK!  
**

 **You guys ever have those embarassingly painful moments while pursuing your hobbies? You see that little scene with Tyrael and Sophie. That shit took me four tries. Four FUCKING TRIES! And even now I'm not sure whether or not it is good, but this was the fist version I felt kind of okay with. I don't get what thell was that shit about, but that sole dumbass scene kept this chapter from being done sooner. Gods damnit...**

 **ANYWAY, I'm here now, and hopefully back on track. Maybe. I dunno. I can't be sure about anything, after this struggle...**

 **I solemnly promise you, cupcakes, action shall kick up in the next chapter! Until then, take care and keep being awesome! ;)**

 **Smaller trivia: Hephasto (named after the Greek God of the Forge, Hephaestus) is the demon who guards the Hellforge in Diablo 2. According to D2's lore (which is PRE-Sin war trilogy, remember that), Hephasto had been a follower of Inarius, his personal weaponsmith, and even remained with him on Sanctuary, taking the fight tothe Triune's main temple and even destroying the entire place. Mephisto got so enraged by that he captured the angel and corrupted him into the demon he is now. Most demons know NOT to bring his past up, unless they want to be used in the place of the Anvil of Annihilation. Now, this story and Inarius' D2 backstory in general goes way against the story established in the Sin War trilogy, which is now considered canon. So Hephasto couldn't be here on Sanctuary. Still, he could have been a subordinate of Inarius who fell and was captured in a random battle in the Eternal Conflict. I think I'll keep it that way.**

 **GUEST REPLY**

 **JC: Interesting thing to think about. :\ Hmmm... I have a good guess that Imperius would try to kick the little guy into next week, or preferably into the next eon. Maybe straight into the Apocalypse, whenever and whatever that would be.**


	22. Chapter 22

**_Chapter 22_**

Getting fly-tackled by an "alarm-screeching" angel the second you crossed the doorstep was not fun, no matter how big or small that angel actually was.

 _Alarm-screeching_ was something every angel could do, even huge and robust ones like Imperius (even though he would probably die first than do it). It was a high-pitched powerful signal designed to warn of incoming threats, carry for large distances, and maybe even stun nearby enemies for just enough moments for the angel to engage or retreat.

As Tyrael quickly realized, it also had pretty unhealthy effects on the human ears. Inarius literally crushed into his legs, screeching from the top of his lungs, looking up at him with those (for some inexplicable reason) visible red eyes, small arms locked around his knees. The fallen angel could feel his auditory canals painfully resonate with the voice.

\- Inarius, shut up! – he shouted, covering his ears. – What has gotten into you, wretched child!?

\- LEEENDOOONNNNN! – Inarius shrieked and began dragging Tyrael by the edge of his tunic. – Something is bad with Leendonn!

\- What—did you do something to him?!

\- Come! Something very bad! He not wake up!

Wait, really?! Inarius was worked up about Lyndon refusing to wake up from a nap, or something? Tyrael grumbled under his nose, begrudgingly following the little bundle of shrieking panic, if only to stop him from going crazy again. It was only when he saw Lyndon passed out on the floor besides his bed, his skin almost snow-white, did Tyrael finally shake off his testiness and jumped there, panic flooding him. He somehow dragged the scoundrel back to his bed and quickly listened to his chest. The heart was still beating, thank Anu! Lyndon was also breathing, even if not as deeply as he could. Out of ideas, Tyrael began gently patting the cheek, gradually raising the force of it, just hoping he could achieve something with it.

\- Lyndon? Lyndon! – Tyrael called his name, remembering what Sophie told him once about how to wake up fainted people.

He shouted at him, then grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him forcefully. Lyndon actually made some unidentifiable noise at this, and twitched. His right hand was being held captive by Inarius who helplessly fumbled the fingers, a steady stream of tears running down on his invisible cheeks.

\- Leeeendoooonnn – he whined in a low voice.

The Traitor of the High Heavens… honestly looked so lost and vulnerable right there and then. His small wings folded under his cape, red eyes full of worry and uncertainty. Tyrael found himself positively struggling to remind himself who the little angel actual was. Instead, Tyrael focused back on Lyndon.

\- Lyndon, can you hear me? – he asked loudly.

Unintelligible mumbling.

\- Lyndon! Try to follow my voice.

It took almost an hour to gently guide Lyndon back to the world of the living, but eventually the scoundrel opened his eyes and blinked owlishly, propping himself up on his elbows slowly. Inarius, loudly sobbing, scrambled up onto the bed and snuggled into his chest, faced buried in the shirt.

\- Here, drink this – Tyrael offered a glass of water he quickly brought into the room.

\- W—what is going on? – Lyndon moaned, sitting up completely, clutching his head with one hand.

He murmured a weak thank you as he took the glass, then downed the drink in a single gulp.

\- Gah, my head! – he took a deep breath trying to control his pain. – Feels like someone's using it as an anvil.

\- What happened while I was away? – Tyrael asked, trying to ignore the crying baby angel who looked like he was trying to merge with his caretaker, he was clinging so hard to him.

\- I—I think I had a—Shit, the vision! – Lyndon rubbed his eyes, the events slowly coming back to him.

\- Wait, vision? – Tyrael blinked.

-… I can see the future – the scoundrel admitted uneasily.

There was a pause. Tyrael stared at his guest, dumbfounded.

\- You— **what**?

\- I see the future… sometimes. Usually when I'm about to get attacked or killed. And it is only for me. I can't see others – Lyndon hurried to explain, looking like he wanted to move on as quickly as possible. – Anyway, so—

\- Wait, wait, **wait**! You see your own future and you can change it?!

\- I guess, yes?

\- And when did you want to tell me this?! – Tyrael glared at him angrily.

\- Myriam's sight is far more impressive, I can barely see how I would get killed in the next minute or so – Lyndon grumbled, patting Inarius on the head.

\- Myriam's premonitions could not be changed. They came true no matter what the hell happened – Tyrael took a sharp breath, standing up from the bed.

He couldn't _believe_ Lyndon! This man could literally see and change his own future, and he forgot to mention that detail?! No creature was free of Fate… except maybe Johanna who messed up the entire Prophecy of the End Days.

\- Anything **else** I should know about?! – he hissed between his teeth, trying to keep his anger down.

\- I can teleport, but I tend to miss the target… And I can change my color, apparently…

\- You _what_?!

Lyndon gazed down at the blanket of the bed, and soon, parts of his body, clothes, skin and everything, began to take on the same color and even the same fabric-like pattern. It got stuck on his arms and legs, but it was a pretty disturbing sight. It wasn't like complete invisibility, far from that, but in the right situation it could be the perfect camouflage in all of Creation. Tyrael could feel his eyes grow wide at the phenomenon, which quickly melted away.

\- That is… strange – he admitted.

\- Thanks, like I didn't know – Lyndon frowned at him.

\- That is not what I meant.

\- Sure you didn't – the scoundrel barked back, quickly switching into a defensive stand.

Tyrael bit down on a curse. Lyndon could be so damn stubborn and easy to set off! In this half a year since the fallen left the Nephalem's group to establish the Horadrim, he really forgot how much of a pain the con man could be at times.

\- Fine then! When you stop pouting like a child, I will be down in the library – he snapped, turning around and marching out of the room before he said something he would regret later on.

oooOOOooo

Tyrael, Archangel of Obvious. Lyndon really didn't need to be reminded that he was indeed different and _weird_. "Pouting like a child", look who's talking!

He took a deep breath, pushing his displeasure aside for the time being. He can get back to it when he followed Tyrael to the library. But first…

\- Quiet? – he looked down on his charge, who silently glued himself to his chest pretty much. – Little firefly, it is alright. I'm getting better. My headache is lessening.

\- I was so skerd – Quiet mumbled, slowly letting go of the human and looking up at him with sad red eyes. – You skerd me.

\- I know. I'm sorry, Quiet.

\- Do no do that again.

Lyndon snorted with humor. That sentence almost sounded like it came from Edlin, after Lyndon had performed a daring stunt on top of the roofs and almost fallen off as a result. He had a habit of scaring his older brother many times.

\- I'll try, firefly. Alright?

\- Alright.

The scoundrel's good mood quickly evaporated however as he remembered his vision. He was almost certain his sudden horrible headache and fainting came from the fact that he forced his sixth sense too much. It was simply not strong enough to comply with his wishes. He had to wonder if he could train at it, like he did with his other powers. But first, there was a much more pressing issue.

\- Quiet, listen to me – he placed the angel onto the bed before him and bent down to his eye level. – This is very important, okay?

Quiet clasped his hands in nervousness but nodded.

\- While we were sleeping, I saw the future. Something big will happen, and it will probably be very scary too – Lyndon explain dead-seriously. – I did not see you by my side.

Now those red eyes were positively flooded with dread, so the scoundrel reached out and gently held the tiny fingers with both hands.

\- I promise you that I will try my very best to stop that from happening. I will do everything I can to stay with you, alright?

\- Promiss?

\- I **promise**.

\- A—alright.

\- But, and this is very important, Quiet, I may not succeed – Lyndon went on. – We may get separated, regardless of what we are doing. If that happens, I want you to promise me something in return.

\- Yes?

Lyndon reached to his belt with one hand and pulled out the black dagger in its sheath. He held it out to Quiet.

\- I give you this. I taught you how to fight with it. It will help you stay safe, if I'm not around.

Quiet hesitantly and with shaky hands took the weapon.

\- Do you remember what I have taught you? – Lyndon asked softly.

-… If it is a hu—man, and not an evil human… then do no kill, unless there is no other way – Quiet hiccupped, tears filling his eyes as he looked down at the blade.

\- What are the other ways?

\- S—sker them away, not hurt them too bad… stopp them from coming after us… sneak past them, knock them out.

\- Exactly – Lyndon kissed him on the top of his head. – That's my firefly. Promise me you will do just that, if we get separated.

\- I po—promiss.

\- Thank you, Quiet.

The little angel finally burst out in tears and reached out towards Lyndon.

\- I do no want you to go-o-o! – he wailed.

\- Oh, Quiet – Lyndon sighed, scooping the sobbing bundle up and rocking him gently. – I do not want to leave you either, believe me. But the world is often not about what we want. Many times things happen that we did not wish for or did not expect. Those times all we can do is keep our focus and try to make the most of the situation. Those times we have to be brave and quick and clever to make it work.

The little angel cried into his shoulder, even his warm wings wrapped around Lyndon as best as they could.

\- You are my brave little firefly. I know you will do good, even if I'm not around to help you – the scoundrel cooed. – You will make me proud, I know it—

\- _INAAAARIUSSSSSS!_

Aw hell, that was Tyrael, from somewhere downstairs if the roar's muffled volume was to be believed. Quiet buried himself deeper into his hug. Lyndon's eyes flashed up green. He had no idea what Tyrael's problem was with his little firefly (it sure as **shit** wasn't that part about trying to destroy Sanctuary, he could easily tell that), but this would end now!

Still rocking Quiet, Lyndon got up from the bed and marched out of the room and down the stairs.

He found Tyrael standing in one of the many large halls of the mansion. Before him stood a row of pillars supporting the ceiling, but each had been greatly changed, either in material, form or both. Oh… so this was where Quiet had practiced his powers. Honestly, these new posts were pretty, what was Tyrael's problem?

\- Look what he had done! – the fallen angel shouted, pointing accusingly at them.

\- I'm looking. They are very impressive – Lyndon retorted sharply, the corner of his mouth curling up.

\- We are damn lucky the ceiling hadn't caved in yet!

\- Tyrael, relax. I'm sure Quiet knew what they were for and didn't change that part.

\- His name is Inarius!

\- His name. Is. **Quiet**. Get this through your thick skull!

Tyrael threw his hands in the air in his frustration.

\- You are impossible, scoundrel!

\- Look who's talking, _angel_! You call him a madman?! Seriously?! – Lyndon snarled back, showing the still sobbing Quiet who tried his damnest to sink into his shirt. – Look at him, damnit! Are you honestly seeing a **monster** and not a child?!

\- I know him, Lyndon! Better than you ever will. He's my brother.

\- Oh don't give me that bullshit that you were such a great leader that you knew everything about all of your soldiers! He was your underling, don't tell me you were buddy-buddies—

\- He was my _actual_ brother, you moron! – Tyrael almost roared at him at this point. - My rhythm-sibling. The Arch had created him with the same frequency as mine. For whatever damned reason, I could have never told, but it did!

There was a brief but heavy pause as Lyndon processed the information.

\- You… you gave your **own** _little_ _brother_ to Mephisto as a **bargain chip**?! – he finally shrieked, absolute bewilderment and anger stunning him to his core.

His hold grew tighter on Quiet and he partially turned his torso away from Tyrael, as if trying to shield the little angel with his body.

\- That was his due punishment for all the sins he had committed! For the safety of this world, it had to be done.

\- Are you out of your fucking mind?! – now it was Lyndon's turn to borderline roar. – You gave your **brother** to one of the most **sadistic** pieces of shit this Creation has ever seen! And when the fucker broke his word and attacked Sanctuary anyway, you did not even **bother** to rescue Inarius from his clutches?!

Something flashed before his eyes, grey smoke and orange light, but he simply couldn't nor did he want to make it out. He was so damn angry, he couldn't care about anything else right there and then!

\- I was a bit busy saving your kind from annihilation! – Tyrael retorted.

\- Give out the fucking order then! Tell the Council! Have them lead the mission while you are busy stringing those stupid mages around! You had some goddamn 300 years after that quest, no?! The hell were you doing then?!

\- Hindsight is so convenient, is it not!? – Tyrael spat. – You must certainly know well how the Angiris Council works, _scoundrel_.

\- Maybe not – Lyndon hissed in a venomous voice. – But at least I understand what it _actually_ means to be a brother!

Quiet whimpered miserably in the hug, clutching the dagger to his chest. It looked like the air was about to metaphorically blow up from the tension between Lyndon and Tyrael.

And that's exactly when it decided to blow up, quite literally.

The explosion flung them in the farthest corner of the hall, debris almost burying them completely. Sparks flew and in a moment fire raced across the edge of the room, quickly spreading beyond its doors. Most of the changed pillars got completely obliterated, causing the ceiling to finally collapse in. The two men had flown in separate directions. Tyrael somehow got luckier, avoiding being buried by the planks. He struggled to his feet, head ringing from the collision, but only managed to kneel up.

\- Lyndon! Lynd— _cough cough_ —Lyndon! – he shouted, squinting to see through the sudden thick smoke that choked the entire hall.

A figure appeared in the smoke and at first Tyrael believed it was the scoundrel. But no, the man was far larger and wider, and wore incredibly heavy armor.

\- Kormac? – he coughed, looking up at the warrior in sheer disbelief.

The knight looked like he just rammed his way through three separate stone walls… which he probably did just now. His armor was full of scratches and smudges, it was even dented in many places but that did not seem to bother him at all. He stared down at the fallen angel for a seemingly endless second, before extending one gauntleted hand.

\- I am sorry for the… mess, Tyrael – he had said, voice surprisingly flat and uninterested. – Couldn't be helped.

\- What—what are you talking about? – Tyrael struggled to his feet, accepting the helping hand.

Instead of answering, the Templar turned away, clearly looking for something. His eyes narrowed as he finally spotted Lyndon near the other end of the hall, who just now dragged himself out from under the debris with the help of Quiet.

\- Lyndon – Kormac called out, his voice suddenly holding an edge.

He pulled out his sword. The scoundrel whipped his head into the knight's direction, eyes growing wide with fear. Immediately he grabbed Quiet and pushed him behind his leg. Tyrael stood behind Kormac, unable to make sense of the scene before himself.

\- Lyndon. Step away from the monster – Kormac said slowly, weapon raised. – It is alright, Johanna told us everything.

\- She told you what exactly? – the scoundrel barked back angrily, over the sound of the fire. – How to wreck the houses of your former allies?!

\- Just let go of Mephisto and come here – Kormac told him, sounding like he was talking to a tantrum-throwing child.

\- _Mephisto_? – Tyrael and Lyndon said in unison.

\- Johanna explained everything – Kormac went on, not lowering his weapon. – You had found Mephisto in the Realm of Hatred, and he had taken you under his sway. That's why we couldn't find him, because you smuggled him out of there.

\- What the hell are you talking about?! – Lyndon cried out. – It wasn't Mephisto I've found down in that pit! Johanna is lying to you.

\- He truly did pull you into his influence – Kormac grimaced. – Just… step away from him, and come to me. We can make this right, Lyndon. Try to tune out his voice in your head.

\- Does he look like a demon to you?! – Lyndon shouted angrily, showing the terrified Quiet. – Demons have wings made out of light?! Since when?!

\- You see him as an angel. Johanna told us about the glamour he could be using – Kormac mumbled.

Something was very wrong with the knight. Next to the almost bored-sounding voice, his eyes were… glassy. As if there was some kind of fog just behind his irises. Lyndon felt dread spreading all across his body just by looking at it.

\- Lyndon, that is not an angel, it is a monster in disguise – Kormac went on. – _Trust me_.

\- Like hell I'll trust you! Go fuck yourself! – Lyndon snarled, stepping before Quiet once more, determined to shield him somehow. – You were tricked by Johanna, that's what this is all about!

Kormac turned to the stunned Tyrael.

\- You see him for what he is, do you not, Archangel of Justice? – he asked.

Tyrael blinked, then shook his head. Quiet's form became blurry all of a sudden. Was it the heat, the smoke, the orange light, or did he really start to look like a small demon? The fallen angel stared, but his eyes seemed to disagree on what to see. His vision seemed to struggle with something.

\- Tyrael! – Lyndon called out, pleadingly.

\- We need to separate them, before Mephisto can regain his full power once more – Kormac said calmly.

\- Tyrael, you know this is **not** Mephisto! This is your brother!

\- Help me achieve that, Tyrael. We must keep humankind safe.

The fallen angel desperately shook his head, then cast his eyes to the ground.

\- I am sorry… – he mumbled.

The Templar turned back to Lyndon, sword ready to strike.

-… Kormac – Tyrael finished, glancing up.

Then he struck with all is might, straight at the neck of the knight. Kormac collapsed without a sound into an unconscious heap. Immediately the haze left Tyrael's vision and he could see Quiet clearly once more. Whatever that witchcraft had been cast over him, it originated from the Templar

Lyndon took a shaky breath.

\- Thank you – he whispered, greatly relieved.

\- Don't thank me yet – Tyrael grimaced as he rushed there. – We need to get out of the city as fast as we can. Johanna cannot be far behind.

\- Why didn't Haile warn me, damnit?! He promised he would give a heads-up – Lyndon hissed.

\- Maybe Johanna chose a stealthier approach…

\- She's a **Crusader**! Crusaders can't do stealth!

-… True that.

Lyndon hissed a steady and colorful stream of curses before shaking his head.

\- Quiet, you still have the dagger? – he looked down at his charge.

\- Y-yes – came the meek reply.

\- Good, hold onto it well!

\- You gave him a dagger?! – Tyrael glared at him.

\- Shut the hell up, Tyrael, seriously! – Lyndon barked at him. – If Quiet is truly such a _world-destroying power incarnate_ , then it doesn't fucking matter whether he has a weapon or not, now does it?!

He did not wait for an answer, but almost instinctively teleported back into their room, hitting the mark dead on. He grabbed his new shiny crossbow and his backpack from the bed, feeling the whip-cane and the large sum of money in it, then teleported back into the ruined hall.

\- Leendonn can puff! – Quiet stated to Tyrael, pointing at the scoundrel.

\- Yeah, I noticed – the fallen angel grumbled back.

\- You need anything from here? – Lyndon asked him.

\- No.

\- Then let's get going. We have the Slayer of the Prime Evil and Death Himself to avoid. No big deal, eh? – the scoundrel smiled wryly.

They dragged the still unconscious Kormac out of the burning house onto the main street. In the distance the firewatch's bell rang and people quickly drew back from the mansion's proximity. Tyrael, Lyndon and Quiet did not wait for the firemen to arrive, they disappeared into the maze of the Westmarch alleyways.

* * *

 **Lyndon & Tyrael - best fucking team composition ever!**

 **Finally something is actually happening! Jeez! Action's kicking up and we are getting back on track! ;)**

 **I actually like Kormac very much (fuck it, I like every Follower), both his voice and his personality. Not sure what some people have against his voice actor, the guy did a phenomenal job in my opinion. Okay, so maybe not Troy Baker (Lyndon) levels of awesomeness, but that's a bit unfair: there are few voice actors in the world who can match his talent. "Not being as good as Troy Baker" does not mean a voice actor is bad, by any means.**

 **However, I DO have somewhat bad news to share with you cupcakes. :( You may recall I mentioned at the beginning of Act II that I am planning an extra special chapter for April 1st. Well... that plan is pretty much screwed at this point. Back then it looked like I was going to reach that point in the story where I can fit that special chapter into the flow seamlessly on that day. Then shit happened, University and Artist/Writer's Block mainly, and I fell behind schedule, so to speak. I'm still planning to have that special chapter later in the story (because the idea is just too appealing to me to let it go!), but it won't be on April's Fools.**

 **Sorry about that!**

 **Anyway, so as always, thank you all for your patience! ^^**


	23. Chapter 23

**_Chapter 23_**

\- Any idea where to go? – Lyndon panted as he was running after Tyrael.

\- Well… I suppose we can start at the marsh – the fallen angel offered, clearly having no plan whatsoever.

Not that anyone could blame him.

\- Oh, the Blood Marsh. My favorite place! – Lyndon snorted wryly.

\- If you have a better idea, I'm all ears, scoundrel!

Lyndon rolled his eyes at this, but kept his mouth shut. They zig-zagged among the alleyways, sometimes passing by surprised locals. Once Tyrael almost crashed through a freshly hung batch of washed clothes and the pair had to pretty much flee from the rightfully enraged housewife who threw herself after them, armed with a broom. Thankfully, they had managed to shake her off quickly.

\- You are not the best at avoiding obstacles, are you, angel? – Lyndon snorted with glee after they were permitted to take back from their speed.

\- Angels do not run, Lyndon! – Tyrael retorted angrily. – We fly at most, but never run on the ground.

\- You really need to catch up with your learning about humans.

\- I'm trying, alright?!

 _PAFF!_

Tyrael collided head-on with someone after rounding a corner and he stumbled back. The unfortunate bystander sat down hard with a girly shout.

\- Kyla? – Lyndon stared at the red-haired girl before them.

\- Scoundrel! Angel! Good to see you! – she jumped back onto her feet as if nothing happened. – Father sent me to find you. Come, this way!

\- One moment, please! – Lyndon suddenly called out, reaching into a pocket on his coat. He was just reminded of something important by that incident with the washed clothes back there.

Everyone looked at him, even Quiet on his back peeked over his shoulder curiously. The scoundrel pulled out a shiny, super tacky necklace he had stolen on his way to Westmarch. It was full of (fake but shiny) gemstones, silver chains and golden small pendants. Honestly, it was an ugly piece of jewelry, no woman with any taste would ever wear it. Still, Quiet's attention immediately focused on the shiny stuff. And so did Tyrael's. The big bald man's golden eyes immediately got glued on the necklace and he looked at it intensely, even following its slight swinging back and forth.

\- What is it, scoundrel? – he asked, but refused to take his eyes off the prize.

\- I fucking knew it – Lyndon smiled widely at the sight. – Angels are just fancy magpies!

\- What are you talking about?!

\- Shiiinnyyy – Quiet mumbled, eyes wide and sparkly, futilely reaching out with one short arm towards the jewelry.

\- Ha! This is funny! – Kyla laughed at the scene.

Tyrael could finally tear his gaze away from the tacky necklace and glare angrily at Lyndon. Only… he would have done that, but his eyes kept on turning back to it. In the end, he cried out in frustration and closed them tight.

\- Put that thing away, scoundrel! – he demanded. – We are in the middle of a crisis and you are playing mind games?!

\- Nah, this is nothing compared to what we have been through so far – Lyndon shrugged, putting the necklace away into his pocket. – This had been an experiment long in the making.

\- I forgot just how impossible you truly are – Tyrael grumbled, finally being able to open his eyes.

\- It is my trademark, after all – Lyndon said then turned to Kyla. – Now, we can go.

The little girl complied, giggling all the way to her home.

The second they reached the entrance stairs, the mansion's door burst open, revealing Haile on the doorstep.

\- Come in, quick! – he barked.

He ushered his guests into his dining room and sat them down, then began running up and down, hurriedly preparing something, enlisting even the kids' help.

\- Haile, what is going on? – Lyndon frowned at him from the dining table. – You said you'd warn me!

\- Aye! Well, Johanna had decided to play her cards differently this time. Whatever goddamned place she is coming from, she announced her arrival to Westmarch in a few days' time. Sounds like she's planning a gathering or somethin' -– Haile retorted angrily, currently from the other room.

\- Why would she do that? – Tyrael shared a glance with the scoundrel.

Johanna was the Hero of Sanctuary, true, but she'd never been a public figure who preached about one thing or another. She just went and did her thing.

\- Hell if I know! I was just about to send Kyla to tell you all this, but then I saw the smoke. And now Kyla ran into you on the streets. What the hell happened?! – Haile shouted, now from two rooms away.

\- Kormac burst into the building and caused a fire – Tyrael sighed deeply. – I have no idea what came over him. He looked… bewitched, almost.

\- Shit, things are even worse then. Just like you've said, Lyndon – Haile poked his bald head briefly into the dining room, glancing at the scoundrel.

\- I told you I wasn't kidding – Lyndon grumbled. – Kormac wanted Quiet and he was ready to attack me for him. He believes… or at least **says** that Quiet is Mephisto in disguise.

\- Ain't that guy one of them Burning Hell Assholes? – Haile asked, once again disappearing into the depths of his home.

\- The oldest of all the Evils, The largest of Tathamet's heads. Lord of Hatred – Tyrael massaged his forehead.

\- Leendonn, what is "essholl"? – Quiet blinked up to his caretaker.

Lyndon screwed his eyes shut and withstood the temptation of headbutting the table.

\- It is an adult word, Quiet – he finally said.

\- Is it a bad word?

\- Yes, very bad word. You shouldn't use it.

\- Like "sonuvabeech"?

The scoundrel almost fell off of his chair at this.

\- Where did you learn that?! – he shrieked.

\- You said many times. Mostly when you angry.

Tyrael silently but closely watched the scene unfold before him. Lyndon looked like he wanted to blush and pale at the same time.

\- These are curse words for **grown-ups** – he hurried with a defense. – You are too little to use them yet!

\- Why? – Quiet cocked his head to one side.

\- Because I said so!

\- Inarius had always been the curious type – Tyrael chimed in softly. – It is a rare trait among the seraphim. But he was nearly always looking for answers for one thing or another, no matter how small it was. One could have mistaken him for an angel of Wisdom at times.

\- Good to know – Lyndon grimaced.

Thankfully, Quiet picked on the mood, and chose to fall silent and busy himself with drawing shapes onto the table's surface with his finger. In the path of his touch, the wood turned into polished silver.

\- Inarius, stop that! – Tyrael frowned at him.

Quiet glanced up at him and went "pth-th-th-th-th-th-th". It took the fallen angel a few moments to realize that the kid just stuck his invisible tongue out at him.

\- You little… – he hissed angrily.

Quiet just went back drawing silver lines onto the table. Lyndon wasn't in a big hurry to scold the child, either.

\- Here ya go, lads! – Haile burst into the room, carrying a large bundle. – Food for the road.

\- Wait what? – his guests blinked up at him.

\- What, you thought I would let you go without anything? Bah! – the captain snorted, stuffing it into Lyndon's mostly empty backpack.

\- I'm going with him – Tyrael announced. – I attacked Kormac and knocked him out.

\- Yeah, he saved my life – Lyndon nodded sincerely.

\- If you see any of my Horadrim returning from their missions, please tell them of the situation – the fallen angel asked. – Especially Lorath.

\- Sure thing, lad – Haile nodded.

\- Thank you.

\- So now what? – Lyndon asked, standing up and hauling his backpack to his back. – Got any further tips?

\- Johanna's still some time away, supposedly, so you don't have to hide from her yet – Haile shrugged. – I suggest you take the main road. Fastest way out of the city, in any direction.

\- Do you know any good place in the Blood Marsh where we can hide, even for a short time? – Tyrael asked.

-… Not sure. Farthest away from those little sh… – here he was stopped by a warning look from Lyndon –, _shrieking_ bogans, but that is a given thing. Those fancy ruins you lot went in not long ago to find that biiii— _witch_ Adria?

\- Hey, that is a good idea! – Lyndon exclaimed. – That thing is a maze, we can avoid Johanna well there temporarily.

\- No, the Ruins of Corvus are shielded from angels and demons alike. That is why I wanted to hide the Black Soulstone there. Inarius wouldn't be able to enter – Tyrael shook his head.

\- How did Malthael get the stone then?! – Lyndon glared at him.

\- He had changed so much by then that the ruins could no longer recognize him as an angel – Tyrael trailed off, glancing at Quiet who blinked back just as blankly. – Then again… perhaps Inarius might be accepted as well.

\- We will just have to try then – Lyndon frowned, taking his charge's offered hand into his own.

\- Thank you for everything, Haile – the fallen angel turned to their host.

\- Don't mention it, lads – the captain shook his head then glanced at Lyndon. – You know your purpose yet, kiddo?

-… Not completely, no – Lyndon admitted uneasily.

\- Then work on it.

\- Thanks, the moment I'm not running for my life from Johanna, I'll make sure to look into it…

\- What? – Tyrael blinked.

\- Nothing! – Lyndon snapped at him.

\- Your life **will** depend on it, lad! – Haile stated in the perfect voice of steel, before growing slightly gentler. – But besides that… take care. Stay safe, you three, alright?

\- Thank you, Kapten Heylee – Quiet waved at him.

\- Take care of these two dorks, will ya kid – Haile smiled down at the child.

\- Leendonn take-s care of me. Teeriel is just mean and angry.

\- Ha! Got that right – Lyndon snorted, earning a frown from the fallen angel by his side.

Haile rolled his eyes at this as they headed for the exit.

oooOOOooo

\- So why do you think the Ruins will let Quiet inside, even though he is an angel? – Lyndon asked as they slogged through the marshwaters, avoiding the bogan-lairs as best as they could.

-… Just a feeling – Tyrael mumbled after he spared a glance at Quiet who took a ride on Lyndon's back.

\- Aha, sure. Out with it.

\- Why would you care, honestly?! You have clearly ignored all of my other statements about him so far.

\- Because those are all clearly bull— – Lyndon quickly bit down on the curse, before continuing –, but this, I am interested in!

\- You are so _gracious_ with your attention, scoundrel…

\- I know, I know. I'm a generous guy, you see. Now spill it.

-… Do you see the gems in Inarius' wings and tiara? – Tyrael glanced at Quiet again.

\- Yes, and they are very interesting – Lyndon nodded. – Never seen a gem with a structure like that.

\- They are pretty – Quiet announced proudly, sticking his wings out of his cape, showing of the ruby wrists on them.

\- Only one gem in all of Creation had ever had this appearance – Tyrael mumbled uneasily. – The Worldstone.

\- Wait, the _Worldstone_? – Lyndon paused for a moment. – Didn't you destroy it?

\- I did. That is why I do not understand this – Tyrael admittedly, eyeing the small wings of light. – How and where even did he get his hands on these shards?

\- Worrlddston must be pretty – Quiet wondered aloud.

\- No how. They grew out of him – Lyndon shrugged.

\- Eh?! – Tyrael stared at him.

\- Sometimes Quiet goes through these quick growths randomly, two so far. He just gained those gems during the first one, I believe. Why is that strange? Didn't you say once that angels grow and change their own armor according to their personality as well?

\- Yes, but we do not grow gemstones out of ourselves, and definitely not shards of the Worldstone itself! – Tyrael exclaimed angrily.

Lyndon thought for a moment.

\- This Worldstone… did it have another name, perhaps? – he asked then carefully.

\- Yes. The Eye of Anu. Why?

 _The_ _ **Eye**_ _… of Anu._

\- The funny statues called me "Eye" – Quiet chimed in. – I did no like it. Ugly name.

\- What funny statues? – Tyrael asked.

\- Those seven jade figurines I told you about, in Gea Kul – Lyndon explained. – The ones that gave us a ride on the back of the sea monster.

\- And they called Inarius the "Eye"?

\- Yes. They also called him "Origin of All" and me the "Guardian of the Eye" – Lyndon recalled. – I have no idea what that was all about, honestly.

Tyrael's stared blankly at them, his mind clearly working overtime to connect the dots.

\- What in the Burning Hells is going on? – he breathed, clearly stunned to his core.

Something flashed before Lyndon's eyes. He grabbed Tyrael by the shoulder and strongly yanked him away from his spot. A millisecond later, the muddy water blew up like a geyser, sending them tumbling to the ground. Lyndon barely had enough time to twist around in mid-air, in order to land on his belly instead.

\- Good question! I was thinking about the same thing myself!

Lyndon felt his blood freeze as he spat the dirty water out, glancing behind his back.

On the other side of the newly formed crater stood Crusader Johanna in full battle gear.

oooOOOooo

Tyrael caught himself _reminiscing_ of the time he could greet the Hero of Sanctuary as a friend, as if that had been a lifetime ago.

Now, he lied in the mud, leaning on his elbows, staring at the spot he stood at just seconds ago, now turned into a smoking crater. The crater that had almost been **him**.

Scared to his core, he glanced up at their ambusher. Johanna stood in front of them, fully clad in her armor, lazily swinging her burning flail in one hand like it weighted nothing. At first, she appeared completely normal. But then her face held a smug, wide grin that was not typical of her.

\- Honestly, Lyndon, what has gotten into you? – Johanna looked at her former comrade with disdain and pity even. – Has Mephisto's influence proven to be too strong to fight off?

\- Cut the bullshit, Johanna! – Lyndon spat water in her direction, struggling to his feet. On his back, Quiet clung to him for dear life, trying to hide, eyes wide with terror. – Your stupid little trick is not working on us!

\- Do you see, Tyrael? – Johanna turned to the fallen angel nonchalantly, as if she didn't just try to blow him to smithereens. – Are you going to help me stop this Evil from spreading once more.

Tyrael could feel that strange illusion trying to take over his vision as he too rose to his feet. The power evaporated quickly, however, as must illusions do once the target knows of its existence.

\- Your trick does not work on me, Johanna – he called out. – It failed with Kormac, as well.

Johanna frowned slightly at this.

\- Eh, whatever – she shrugged finally. – Well then. I will just take the little creep myself. If you value your lives, you hand him over willingly.

\- Yeah, that's not going to happen – Lyndon hissed, taking a step back.

\- Do you even know who this little nothing is? – Johanna blinked at him in pity.

\- Inarius. Creator of Sanctuary, Father of the Nephalem – Lyndon. – And the angel who is staying out of your grabby hands, bitch!

\- Ah, you caught up, finally – the Crusader briskly nodded. – Took you long enough.

\- Leendonn – Quiet whined softly, shaking from fear.

\- Why do you want him? – Lyndon snarled, trying to put up a brave front.

\- You must have mistaken me for Azmodan – Johanna grinned. – Ha! Remember him? He just loooved to boast about his plans! It was starting to get annoying after a while, constantly getting the surprises spoiled.

Suddenly her carefree expression melted away and was replaced by a definitely in-human snarl, her teeth turning into fangs.

\- Now hand that unfaithful bastard over! – she shrieked, swinging his flail.

Whatever magic she conjured up, Lyndon didn't bother to stay and find out.

\- Quiet! – he shouted, to which the little angel sprung a 10-meter-tall granite wall up from the ground, right between them and the Crusader.

Lyndon grabbed Tyrael's arm and teleported them away, deep into the Blood Marsh. They stumbled in the pool upon arriving, the fallen angel clearly disoriented.

\- We have to find the Waypoint here and go to Corvus! – Lyndon shouted, pulling him back up to his feet.

\- Can you not just teleport in there? – Tyrael panted as they started running.

\- I'd rather not miss and get us hopelessly lost down there!

\- Fair enough.

Quiet let out a shrill cry, quivering his wings. The voice rang across the land and almost immediately the answer came in the form of a myriad creatures bursting forth from every little nook the marsh offered. Bogans, thousands of them. Lyndon and Tyrael stopped dead on their tracks with dread, but the little hellspawn creatures swarmed past them, giving them a wide birth. They all headed in one direction.

\- They fight Johhana! – Quiet explained hurriedly. – We must go quickly!

\- They do not stand a chance – Tyrael cried out. – How did you even—?!

\- They will buy us enough time to find the Waypoint – Lyndon interrupted. – Get moving!

They started running again, hopelessly zig-zagging among the trees, bogs, pools and other horrid things the marsh held within it. It was impossible to tell the places apart. Their only indication of a direction was the distant sound of battle as Johanna had been assaulted by the bogan army. At least they could tell which way not to run into.

It appeared there was no way out, but then, finally, they spotted something. Sunken into a smaller hill stood an entrance framed with dark stone, the pavement before it shinning with the blue contours of the wind's symbol.

\- That's it! We are on the right track! – Lyndon exclaimed, grabbing Tyrael's wrist and pulling him along.

He could not remember which entrance to the ruins was the right one (the Nephalem builders had been crafty), but he knew the Waypoint was close to these openings. Soon, much to their relief, they saw the blue haze of the Waypoint's flames in the distance.

Horse hooves sounded up in the distance, no doubt that creepy ghost battle mount of Johanna's she could conjure up for some unexplained reason. Still, it was some distance away, they would make it!

Lyndon almost jumped onto the platform, the rune-covered circle suddenly the most beautiful thing in his eyes. Tyrael followed his suit. Just to make sure the circle would transport Quiet as well, Lyndon quickly settled him down onto the pedestal, between himself and the fallen angel.

\- What if the Ruins do not accept Inarius? – Tyrael shouted.

\- Plan B is the Ruins of Secheron, then – Lyndon quickly answered, coming up with it right on the spot. – Ready?!

\- Ready!

The flames blazed up, gathering the energy to transport them to Corvus. Suddenly their light turned to green, however. It took Lyndon a moment to realize that was due to the strong yellow light that rained down upon them like a spotlight.

A far too precious moment.

Johanna slammed down with all the fury of the Heavens themselves, just as the Waypoint activated. She landed just in front of them and for an eternal second, Lyndon locked eyes with her as he was propelled back by the shockwave, Quiet's small hand slipping out of his grip.

Death was all he could think of in that moment.

A familiar blue flash washed away everything and he felt his own teleporting powers coming to life. He collided with something as his vision failed him.

And after that, nothing.

* * *

 **FALLING SWORD, BITCHEEEESSSS! It is one of the most powerful abilities of the Crusader, both in Diablo3 and in HoTS. I just had to put it in here. ;)**

 **Now... let us see where we are going from here. It's gonna be great! :D**

 **Forward, cupcakes! I love you all!  
**

 **GUEST REPLY**

 **PaulM: Thank you for staying on board so far, despite all these pauses. ^^ I truly appreciate it!**


	24. Chapter 24

**_Chapter 24_**

Quiet wished he could lose consciousness. Only the inky darkness did not want to comply.

He saw it all. He saw the crazed Johhana fall upon them with the full vengeance of the world. He saw the madness in her eyes, before it was swallowed by that sharp blue flash. He felt his own hand slipping out of Leendonn's. At the same moment, he felt the steel grip of Teeriel latch onto his other arm.

Then… they flew. In one direction, and in a thousand. Finally they collided hard with stone which cut short Quiet's desperate scream. Teeriel tumbled to the ground, the back of his head oozing blood. Quiet smacked into the floor hard, pain exploding into his small body, but even then he did not faint. Something inside him kept him awake, screaming "Danger! You must be ready!". Fingers clutching the hilt of Leendonn's dagger, Quiet lifted his head from the ground with great struggle.

A few meters away from him, Johhana lied on the floor, her armor weighing her down. Blue sparks ran across her body, and she cursed loudly, trying to push herself up from the paved ground.

\- Cursed Horadrim magic! – she hissed.

The blue sparks were clearly keeping her down, but their light was fading rapidly, the mad woman slowly but surely winning against them. Quiet froze up with terror, unable to look away, or do anything at all. Her aura was huge and foreboding and… something else, that caused even more tension inside him.

He **knew** this aura.

\- _Ergh_. You always were a nuisance. Defiling my plans at every turn – Johhana snarled at him, tilting her head up with some difficulty.

\- I do not know you! – Quiet shouted, desperately scuttling towards the unconscious Teeriel.

\- I'm surprised you don't – Johhana snorted, failing to push herself up from the ground. – Whatever the hell has happened to you, it must have messed you up completely. Made you even more helpless than ever! Tell me, _Inarius_ , why do you struggle so much?

Did **everyone** but him knew that name?! Quiet hissed menacingly at the woman, pouring his disdain for her into the voice, little wings flaring up as a warning.

\- Is killing every mortal really that important to you, after all these eons? – Johhana went on. – Three thousand years and you still want the children dead?! If only Leendonn didn't fall under your sway back in the Realm of Hatred! It would have been so easy. Clean and swift. But no, you had to bewitch him and pull him under your control. I would have hoped you hadn't had the power after eons of constant torture. But you just had to prove me wrong, yet again.

Quiet had absolutely no idea what the woman was talking about. The earliest memory he had of Leendonn was a mere sentence:

 _Everything is going to be alright._

Only this one voice, not even a glimpse of a picture. Although it was accompanied by an overwhelming sense of hope and safety. The happiest memory Quiet could recall. And this woman made that sound like it was a sin.

That made him angry.

\- Why are you working against me? Do you not wish to see the Heavens and Hells pay for everything they have done to you?! – Johhana asked accusingly, struggling onto one knee. – Or… you do not remember… at all.

\- I do not know what you talk about, bad woman – Quiet frowned, rising to his feet, clutching the dagger.

He was angry, angry enough to force down his fear. This mad human attacks them, **separates** them, then she has the nerve to accuse him of wanting to kill everyone.

\- You kill! You hurt us! You lie! You are bad! – Quiet shouted, pointing at Johhana. – I'm not bad! Leendonn taught me to be good.

\- You are making a fool out of yourself. Perhaps I overestimated you – Johhana raised an eyebrow, shakily standing up.

There were barely any blue sparks on her at this point, but Quiet was beyond the point of caring. He too stood up, locking eyes with the woman. He had the feeling this was not the first time they had a stand-off like this… even though he was also sure he had never seen the huuman before their adventures with Leendonn.

\- You should no be here – he hissed, this strange sentence slipping out of his mouth as if it had an actual reason.

\- Inarius, darling, you should have learnt a long time ago that nothing you've ever done is perfect. In fact, they are all full of flaws. Ironic – Johhana snorted with glee.

\- Go away.

\- Aw, giving me the cold shoulder already?

Quiet felt the surroundings shift around him.

\- Go away – he repeated.

Johhana must have picked up on his magic as well, because she frowned at him.

\- We will meet again – she promised. – You shall not kill the children.

\- I do no kill. I am not bad. You are – Quiet stated softly.

Johhana lunged forward, but the ground quickly swallowed up Quiet and Teeriel, transporting them deeper into this dark place.

oooOOOooo

Tyrael woke with a distant throbbing in his head, feeling his skin mending and the injury sealing on the back of his neck. He groaned, trying to get up from the ground where he lied on his belly.

\- Stop moving! – came the shrill voice above him. – You are not well.

\- I—Inarius? – Tyrael mumbled, still completely dazed.

\- My name a—is **Quiet**! – barked the little voice angrily.

\- Shut up, my head hurts…

\- I made it better. **You** shut up!

\- Lyndon, just tell him to be silent, alright?

\- Leendonn is not here!

Wait, he wasn't? Why—

 _Johanna._

\- BY THE HEAVENS! – Tyrael shouted in terror as his memories came back, including the ones about the Falling Sword attack of the Crusader.

He pushed himself up from the ground, nearly headbutting Inarius in the process, and looked around in alarm. An unpleasantly familiar chamber greeted him: Rakkis' Tomb. Everything was the way he remembered it: the four catwalks above a bottomless pit, with four ways out of here. The tomb still held the marks of Malthael's rampage: the dried up skeletons of the Horadrim and the ruined pedestal with its slashed golden ornaments laid in the exact way Tyrael had left them when he dragged himself out of here, with a bleeding hole in his chest.

\- What—what are we doing here? – Tyrael breathed.

It didn't look like Johanna was here with them. Did they escape her wrath?

\- Johhhana wanted to hurt us. I got us away from her – he heard Inarius from his left.

Tyrael turned to the small angel. Inarius had a steady stream of tears running down on his invisible cheeks, but the red eyes shone with anger and determination.

\- Johhana is bad! – he declared angrily, wiping his tears away. – She separated us!

\- Oh by Anu, where is Lyndon then? – Tyrael struggled to his feet, his vision swimming. – Did he teleport away? Is he down here somewhere?

\- I don't know…

\- We have to look! Come on—

That's when the situation finally sunk in: he was alone, stuck with…

\- … _Inarius_ – Tyrael mumbled as he glanced back down at the angel.

Why did it have to be like this?!

\- I am not Inarius! – the little angel hissed at him, voice filled with anger.

\- You can drop the façade, Lyndon is not around here – Tyrael grumbled, annoyed by how stubbornly the mad angel stuck to his little innocent act.

\- You are stoopid!

\- I wonder about that, since you can't fool me apparently.

\- Essholl!

-… What did you just say to me?!

Inarius went "pth-th-th-th-th" at him again, crossing his arms and turning his torso away.

\- Inarius, I swear by—!

\- **I AM NOT INARIUS, SPAWN OF ANU!** – roared the angel so suddenly that Tyrael stumbled back, almost falling from the catwalk.

The shrill voice turned into something much older and far more powerful, as the red gems flashed up on his body. It only lasted for a second, however, and Inarius' next sentence was back to normal:

\- You are bad and mean! I did nothing wrong! I did not harm you, I made your head better! Why you so angry?!

Honestly, Tyrael began to have his doubts about this being only an act. Inarius, or any other angel for that matter, was just too proud to sell himself as such a colossal and childish fool, especially for this long.

… But then what was that outburst back there?

\- Listen, _Inarius_ … – Tyrael began in a low, deadly serious voice.

\- My name is—!

\- I do not know what has happened to you, or how you have managed to fool Lyndon for this long. But make no mistake: I know who you are. I know what you have done in the past. And by Anu, I will strike you down myself, if I see you raise a finger against Sanctuary. Do you understand me?!

There was a heavy pause between them. Inarius gulped, clearly fighting back tears. His little wings quivered with agitation, his fists shook. Tyrael easily and unwaveringly held his piercing wrathful gaze.

\- I hate you – Inarius finally said in a low voice. – You are just like _them_. You want to make me bad. I will **not** be bad. You will **not** win.

Tyrael had no idea what the angel was blabbering about, but Inarius already stormed past him, stomping towards one of the exits that did **not** lead to the upper world.

\- Inarius, where are you going?!

\- I find Leendonn. You do whatever you want, essholl! – Inarius spat, glancing over his tiny shoulder.

\- You'd better stop calling me that, you little fetchling! – Tyrael barked strictly, marching after his surprisingly fast partner.

\- Sonuvabeech!

Tyrael had to literally stop himself from kicking the mini angel over the catwalk and into the abyss. He closed his eyes, pursed his lips and uttered a soft prayer that Lyndon had it better than them, wherever he might have ended up.

oooOOOooo

 _He slogged through darkness, feeling as he was knee deep in mud. It was hard to forge forward, and there was literally nothing around him. No point of origo, no landmark, nothing. Doubt gnawed at him. Was he going the right way? He felt like he had been wandering for years without stopping and yet, no sign of his destination showed. Perhaps he should change directions. Maybe turn just a bit to the right or to the left and continue that way._

 _Was he even worthy to find his path?_

 _He shook himself angrily, pushing forward. Of course he was worthy! Where did these foolish questions even come from?! Just keep going forward, it had to be somewhere here._

 _There! Light!_

 _It was just a mere star in the distance but it spurred him into a faster struggle. There it was! He could reach it, he could finally leave this nothingness behind and start anew. There was so much he wanted to do, so many he wished to see again. He could start all over again and learn from his mistakes, tackling that big problem from a different angle._

 _The light source grew rapidly, despite appearing to be so distant. The murky darkness grew less and less and he could move more easily. He was practically running by then, clawing his way through what little obstacle the shadows still presented. He would make it! The light turned into a big oval shape that pulsed and waved with warm light, the beautiful melody of life itself trickling from it. Beyond it, a world of gold and silver shimmered, enticing him. It was his home, he could return again! He reached out, unable to still his excitement. After all this time..._

 _The light grew cold and hostile. The music stopped. The golden world disappeared and the oval opening turned into a single slate of cold ice._

 _He felt dread filling him, but he refused to back down. He struggled forward, even as an invisible force suddenly pulled him back. The light shied away from him, angry and judging. Wind picked up and pushed against his thin body, forcing him back._

 ** _You are not welcome._**

 _\- No, please! Let me through! I can learn, I can make things better, I—_

 ** _You do not belong._**

 _He helplessly grabbed at anything, but once again there was nothing for him. He was losing ground, being dragged away from the light. He fought with all his might, he screamed for mercy, for reacceptance._

 ** _You are no angel._**

 _With that finishing blow, the light turned away from him, and he was dragged down, down, down. He fell, horror paralyzing him. The darkness quickly swooped by. It was replaced by clouds, by shapes… The ground rushed towards him, preparing to swallow him up whole and erase him from existence…_

Lyndon woke with a shout, sitting up. He was drenched in sweat and caked mud.

Semi-darkness greeted him that was broken by the blue shimmer of a nearby creepy Nephalem lantern and a weak source of light from somewhere up. The light revealed a roughly circular room completely made out of stone. There was a small stream cutting it in half, probably originating from the outside world up there. Up on the ceiling, which almost looked like it was a good hundred meters above, there was a large hole as if something crashed through there long ago. It was already overrun by the plantlife in the marsh however, and the already fading sunlight was mostly blocked by vines. There were small patches of moss and weak little weeds along the stream where the light actually reached down. The room had one big, thankfully unobscured exit on the far end.

Lyndon groaned, trying to make some order in his head. What was that strange dream just now? It didn't feel like a premonition at all.

He realized he was sitting on the paved ground, surrounded by stone debris that no doubt originated from the opening above his head. Wait, did he… crash through there? How did he survive that?! Indestructibility was not a power of his, that had become quite clear in recent weeks. But besides his buzzing head and slight stiffness in his limbs, he felt absolutely fine, surely not like someone who crashed through God knows how many layers of stone and ground. Lyndon, massaging his forehead, slightly leaned back on one outstretched hand, trying to figure out just what has happened.

His fingers touched fabric, and under that fabric, a warm body.

As if electrified, the scoundrel launched himself from his position, rolling over his head and turning around in terror.

Where his head originally rested, there was a bundle of some kind of dark textile, perhaps a tunic or a coat. Only… it wasn't just a random bundle, conveniently placed as a pillow there.

\- You… – Lyndon hissed, eyes flashing up green, as he crouched on the ground, muscles tensed and ready to jump out of the way of an attack.

Before him, among the stone rubble laid a tall, thin person, well over 3 meters in height, dressed in a featureless black tunic. He was completely still like a rag-doll, but his hood twitched and slightly turned towards Lyndon, revealing… nothing but a bottomless darkness.

Lyndon bared his teeth, one hand instinctively flying to the crossbow on his back he didn't even realize he had had on him.

\- You just won't go away, will ya, Malthael?!

* * *

 **Man, this is just a trip down memory-lane, isn't it?**

 **Sorry, cupcakes, for the long hiatus. My Diablo-inspiration recently facetanked a combined nuke of overwhelming University work, Megaman NT Warrior and Anno 2205, and it is still struggling to recover from that hit. I'm really not out of the thick of things yet, so I cannot promise that the next update will be coming soon. With any luck, it will, but please do NOT hold your breath. I have wanted to upload chapters 24 and 25 together, as a kind of apology for the pause, but as things stand now, I am honestly surprised I could get 24 done this "fast". 25 is not even a third-done... Oh boy.**

 **BUT! I am forging ahead slowly but surely, and I love you all, cupcakes! Instead of Chapter 25, I include in the "apology bundle" this quick comic strip about Inarius and the Worldstone, after Lilith's Purge. Enjoy!**

 **-kenyizsu-.-deviantart-.-com-(dash)-art (dash) Diablo-Edge-Of-the-Abyss-745491806**

 **God I hope the link will work...**


	25. Chapter 25

**_Chapter 25_**

Tyrael cursed his very existence, both parts of it.

He hated his Archangel of Justice aspect, which stopped him from simply and effectively disposing of this deceptive-looking threat to Sanctuary marching right before him. Justice dictated that he had to be absolutely, _positively_ , **_undoubtedly_** sure of the charges, the dangers and the consequences of the case and the sentence. Right now, that criteria was not met, not even close. Doubts plagued his mind constantly, and Tyrael failed to make some order among them. It would have been so much easier to not even risk it, and kill Inarius right where he stood. However, the little angel's adamant and continuous insisting that he was indeed **not** Inarius, not to mention his whole… appearance and behavior were enough complicate things.

That sudden outburst back in the Tomb of Rakkis did not help matters, either.

Tyrael also hated his human aspect right about now. Human senses were pretty much garbage, compared to angelic ones. Sure, humans had a more keen sense of taste, and their eyes were pretty good for spotting light in the dark, but everything else sucked really bad. Had Tyrael been still an angel, all he would have had to do was stop and **listen**. Each angel had their own unique harmony that could be easily picked up by other angels. This frequency was used to identify a seraphim, even if they weren't close yet, or if they wore a disguise or completely identical armor, like most of the Luminarei warriors. Tyrael could have just stopped for a second, listen to Inarius' harmony and if it matched with his old form, then the problem was already solved and he could kill the treacherous one right there and then before he could try anything funny.

Alas, it was not to be. He couldn't hear a damn thing and that meant yet another doubt regarding Inarius' true identity.

One thing was for certain, however: Tyrael would **not** call the angel by his newly given name. "Quiet" was an all-around **stupid** name for a seraphim, mostly because of the aforementioned personal frequency. Clearly, Lyndon had no idea how noisy angels actually were. That soft humming melody that constantly permeated everything in the High Heavens, to an extent that even mortals could hear it more or less, was the result of this "noisiness" after all.

\- Do you even know where you are going? – Tyrael called out as he rushed after his companion.

\- Away – came the abrupt reply.

\- Yes, I can clearly see that as well. But do you know where Lyndon even is?!

\- No.

\- Inarius, listen! – Tyrael forced himself to bounce forward, gaining up to the little angel who refused to slow down. – The ruins can be exceptionally dangerous, especially for an angel like you! We cannot just rush into its depths blindly and without a plan!

\- You can leave. I don't – Inarius barked back, tilting his head towards the ground.

\- You are impossible. Seems like some things just never change – hissed Tyrael in a low voice.

Honestly, despite his claims, the little angel most surely possessed Inarius' straight-up immunity to reasoning. The exact personality that had driven Tyrael crazy in the past, and apparently still did so to this day. It was something the Archangel had had neither the time nor the patience for, while running the High Heavens and making sure the Angelic Host did not drown into the sea of demons threatening their existence.

He grabbed Inarius' small arm and yanked him up from the ground to haul him into the opposite direction, to some safer place preferably.

… Or, he _tried_ to, anyway. Instead he stumbled forward, nearly falling over, when Inarius' tiny body did not even budge. The little angel stopped abruptly, feet planted so firmly on the pavement that he was literally immovable. Tyrael somehow regained his balance and stared at his companion, utterly stunned.

\- Do no _touch_ me – Inarius growled, face still tilted to the ground. – **I** go find Leendonn. **You** do whatever you want.

\- Inarius, I am trying to explain to you that—

Grating of pebbles cut Tyrael short. The two unwilling companions snapped their head in unison in the noise's direction. Only now did Tyrael take the time to look around more attentively. The Tomb of Rakkis was like a hub inside the ruins, it led to many different parts of the nephalem city. Tyrael was hoping that Inarius at least picked a direction that led to unknown grounds that may hold less dangers somehow. No such luck.

With dread he recognized the carvings on the wall, the strange blue lanterns and gravestone-like pedestals some distance away from them. At the end of the corridor, a rectangle shape of glowing blue lines ran on the ground, and before it, a closed stone door.

Tyrael pulled out El'druin and held it in both hands.

\- Inarius. We need to leave. Now – he said in a low voice, golden eyes hopelessly scanning the darkness around them.

Despite the lantern's distant lights, the eyeshot was still pretty miserable down here. He could barely make out the corner of a branching path a couple meters away.

The stone wall erupted next to them, causing them reel back in panic. Thick dust cloud filled everything, along with a roar of some kind of monster. Tyrael raised his sword in defense, just as he finally spotted a large, bipedal shape, with disproportioned horns sprouting from the head, dash out of the cloud. Tyrael prepared to strike first or to deflect whatever blow may come his way.

Only the monster swooped right past him with a blood-curling roar and slammed straight into the stunned Inarius, crashing with him through the opposite wall. The angel's screech was cut short by the collision, as the two tumbled beyond the debris, and into one of the numberless pits that dotted Corvus. This particular sinkhole was not bottomless, as the sound of the large monster crushing into the ground came pretty fast. Tyrael threw himself after them in panic.

Just as he feared, this part of Corvus was still infested with the remaining Flesh Golems born from Adria's magic. During her time down here, Johanna got most of them, but not all. Their assailant was a Flesh Shaman, possibly the worst kind out of the three species: it was large, powerful, resilient, and had magic of its own with what it could raise smaller Flesh Gorgers, because **of course** it could.

\- Inarius! – Tyrael cried out, jumping down the hole, hopping from debris dump to debris dump on his way down.

He had learnt with quite painful lessons the exact limits of his mortal body, and he knew that large drops were **not** kind to his knees. He dearly wished he still had his angelic indestructibility, if nothing else.

With a loud battlecry he sprung from the last stop in his descent and swung El'druin with all his might, splitting the large head apart from behind. The Flesh Shaman staggered, screeching in an inhuman voice, but did not die immediately. With great effort, Tyrael yanked his weapon out of the head and swung it in a wide arc, cutting up the monster's side and lopping off his left arm.

Usually he would not consider attacking from behind, as that is a most dishonorable tactic, but this was a mindless beast, born out of evil magic. There was no reason to stay true to his honor in this case.

The Shaman turned around and swiped with his remaining arm, finally letting go of the limp Inarius who got trapped under one large foot. The golem's attempts did not even get close to Tyrael, and El'druin made quick work of the abomination.

With the beast dead and disappearing into a repulsive dark rune circle, the returning silence of the ruins were both welcoming and incredibly unnerving. Tyrael took a few large gulps of air as he recollected himself.

\- Inarius? – he turned to the small form on the ground.

The little angel abruptly pushed himself up from the ground and vehemently dusted himself off.

\- 'm fine – he mumbled quickly, not even looking at the man.

If he could move and was seemingly unharmed, why didn't he use his powers to pulverize that creature in the first three seconds? Tyrael frowned. Flesh Shamans were formidable foes, but surely not for an angel who had "world-warping" powers, as the scoundrel had said.

\- That was what I had been trying to say in the beginning – Tyrael said, uneasily looking around in the new place by El'druin's light. – These ruins are incredibly dangerous. That was a foe I recognize, but there is no telling what else might be waiting for us.

\- Leendonn. Leendonn is waiting for us – Inarius added simply.

Tyrael would have quipped back angrily, had he not been occupied with the hall around them. It had multiply pillars holding the partially caved-in ceiling, but other than that, it was mostly empty. There were carvings on the pillars and the walls, and to Tyrael's great surprise, he could actually read them. After a brief second of confusion he realized why: they were angelic runes. This hall was truly ancient, no doubt built in an era where the nephalem still spoke the languages of their parents. Most of the texts were damage and the parts that could be made out weren't really that interesting, to be honest. It talked about a great deed of some nephalem called Bul-Kathos and his brother Fiacla-Géar. Honestly, those early nephalem names were truly horrid-sounding, Tyrael mused absentmindedly. Guess back then the renegades hadn't had mastered the art of name-giving yet. "Bul kat thos" literally meant "big hill warrior" (not even "mountain", just "hill") mashed up from angelic and demonic words, while "fiacl" meant "beast" in demon and "géar"… Tyrael couldn't recognize that word but it sounded a lot like the string of angelic sounds that meant "leader", a word he could no longer pronounce with his human orifices.

The text also mentioned someone called "Linarian". Oh… now there was a nice name. Angels had exactly 38 words and phrases for "light". "Linarian" meant the kind of light that brought a great sense of joy and relief on the break of a new dawn. Tyrael had to wonder whose child that nephalem had been. The parent angel must have been of the Hope aspect, surely.

\- This place looks safe enough. We should settle for a bit and try to come up with a plan – Tyrael mused, finally resurfacing from the text-reading.

Spending all that time with Cain, Leah and his own books truly had turned him into a scholar.

He turned to look at Inarius, but saw no one. In panic he spun around on his heel, desperately trying to find the little angel in the darkness. In the far end of the hall he spotted the shimmer of the wings and he ran after it, cursing terribly under his breath.

oooOOOooo

Facing Malthael had been the absolute worst, rock bottom of Lyndon's life.

… Until that fight against Rea in his brother's former home, that is. Nothing would ever surpass that.

But the former Archangel, even in retrospect, came pretty goddamn close, no denying that. Unlike Diablo with her cheap shot of trapping Lyndon, Kormac and Eirena in bone cages and forcing Johanna to face her alone, Malthael had no such need for tricks. He had been literally untouchable by the three of them, anyway: only Johanna donned on the Aspect of Death, and only she could do actual harm to him. The most Lyndon and the others could do was provide some kind of feeble distraction, maybe break the angel's concentration during channeling a spell. Even that didn't work most of the time. Unlike demons who had pride that could be attacked, anger that could be raised, Malthael was so goddamn focused and collected it was impossible to find a crack on his cold, emotionless shell. Lyndon remembered struggling to stay the hell away from that soul-draining ring thing of terror around the angel, while simultaneously trying to fight off the bastard's choking aura **and** coming up with an idea to provide distraction.

Malthael had not radiated fear, he had radiated that terrible yet simple fact that death was inevitable. Something everyone knew but no one wanted or tried to think of. The angel, however, made it impossible not to do just that, and it had been a truly crippling experience. The lives lost in the past all resurfaced in their minds at the most inconvenient times, and they hit hard, especially to Lyndon and Eirena who both had had experienced the loss of a sibling right before that fight. That, however, had also made them enraged, and perhaps that was what had allowed them to somehow make it out of there alive. Still, the angel's aura had been potent and unlike anything any demon could replicate.

Lyndon had carried that weight out of that accursed chamber and up to this day in some form. Shunning his past life and hobbies were a clear sign of that.

Remembering all that vividly, the scoundrel now couldn't decide whether he found their sudden lack unnerving or… confusing.

The angel had no armor and no weapons. His now completely featureless greyish black robe covered his entire body, even the pale hands did not show from the long sleeves. His wings were pretty much non-existent: they were barely a shimmer of some kind of white-ish wisp, and Lyndon had to force his eyes just to notice them. His deathly aura left him and in its place there was but a void of nothingness.

Malthael did not twitch or say anything to the scoundrel's outburst, nor did he turn his dark hood away. Lyndon realized with dread that he must have somehow landed right on **top** of Malthael and lied there for who knows how goddamn long while he was knocked out. Did the angel do something to him during that time?! Suck his life force away, perhaps?! Wait, no, that couldn't be it, Lyndon felt far too fine for that. Did he put a curse on him then?! And now the creep was just waiting for it to kick in and kill Lyndon right where he stood or torture him to death, or something!

\- _You are heavy._

…

Wait.

 **What?!**

\- The hell did you just say?! – Lyndon glared daggers at the angel, the abrupt comment throwing him off balance completely.

\- _You are heavy._

Oh so it **was** Malthael speaking, then. Honestly, at first the scoundrel had doubted even that. The sound coming from the angel was nothing like that horrifying deep drawl, heavy with the actual weight of a death sentence. Now it was simply featureless. Lyndon had never heard such an utterly bland voice in his life. It had no characteristics at all, nothing that would tell a single detail about its owner. It was… maybe like the way Necromancers talked, or… no, that wasn't right, either. Necromancers had usually raspy voices that at least told the listener that they had no sense of humor whatsoever and they were deadly serious about everything they were doing.

Malthael didn't even have that. He was just… there. In a twist of irony, that bland voice matched perfectly with the bland appearance. Lyndon would have never thought it possible for an angel to look this _simple_. Even Quiet had more details on him, and he reached up to Malthael's knees, maybe.

\- What the bloody hell do you mean "I am heavy"?! – Lyndon shouted, unable to shake off his shock and start asking more important questions.

 _\- Your weight is large._

\- How the hell do you know that?!

 _\- You lied on me._

Huh… Lyndon really **did** land on Malthael then, didn't he? How did that happen?! The scoundrel thought back to that damned Waypoint in the marsh and how he could think of nothing but death when Johanna fell upon them.

\- Oh, son of a _bitch_! – he exclaimed, aiming the words at his teleporting ability.

Did he seriously, seriously teleport to the Angel of Death, just because he thought of dying?! **That** was the big reason he got separated from Quiet and Tyrael?!

Malthael did not comment on that, either because he didn't care, or he just didn't understand the words spoken. He still made no move to get up or scuttle away, or goddamn anything, and it was starting to get more infuriating than scary at this point.

\- Alright then, you fucker! How about you actually start doing something and finish our business once and for all?! – Lyndon hissed, standing up.

He readied his crossbow, summoning all of his focus and willpower for the fight, preparing to even teleport away from a blow if he had to.

That was exactly the moment the ground shifted next to him, causing him to lose concentration and jump away from his spot with a yelp like a startled cat. That certainly did not help with the air of toughness he was trying to communicate. After finding his footing again, Lyndon glared at his original spot, noting the weapon stand that was definitely not there a second ago. He recognized the rectangular shapes etched into the pavement that indicated the rack's presence, but he had bigger problems than to notice it at first in the semi-darkness. And now, as he was preparing the fight, the weapon stand suddenly and conveniently showed up, offering him a nice-looking wide sword to cut Malthael in half with, as if…

\- _You are nephalem_ – Malthael said again, slightly raising his head from the heap of debris it had been resting on.

\- No, I am not! – Lyndon barked back, instinctively switching to defense at the accusation.

The bastard didn't need to know about his inner conflict.

 _\- It responded to your presence, nephalem._

\- I am a human, idiot!

 _\- A nephalem human._

Lyndon just wanted to shoot the asshole for that comment alone.

No, he was **not** a nephalem, that dumb piece of rock just had a faulty mechanism. It sprung up out of accident and **definitely** not because… because Lyndon was gathering power for a duel and perhaps needed a melee weapon…

The scoundrel shook his head, shooing the thoughts away. He really didn't need these doubts right when he had a fight brewing. Malthael had been Wisdom in the past, surely he was a crafty fighter as well as absolutely ruthless.

Well… he would have been, if only he would start actually moving! Lyndon just wanted to shoot the angel already, but literally **everything** about Malthael was so confusing, so _wrong_ , that he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Sure, go soft on the Angel of Death who came closer to wiping out humanity than anyone else ever. Lyndon wanted to scream in frustration.

\- Are you coming or what?! – he barked angrily instead.

 _\- No._

\- What?!

 _\- I am not coming._

\- Hey, I **am** a human, okay? You wanted to kill us all, remember?! Then come and get me!

Why the hell was he taunting the Angel of Death again? Lyndon figured his nerves were just past the snapping point and he wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible. Malthael's infuriating passivity did not help things.

 _\- No._

\- Why the hell not? Are you afraid, you creep?!

 _\- No._

A pause.

-… Well then?!

 _\- Well then, no._

Oh god, this was Lyndon's personal hell, wasn't it? Stuck with this genocidal angel in an underground ruins, while he's having no damn idea what was happening to Quiet. His little firefly could be in terrible danger and Lyndon wasn't there to keep him safe. The scoundrel felt miserable for leaving his charge alone and caught himself uttering a soft prayer that at least Tyrael would be with him somehow. For all he knew, the Waypoint could have launched all three of them into different directions when it got wrecked by Johanna's Falling Sword.

Lyndon glanced back up from his crossbow to Malthael, and forced himself to slow down and think things through. Was the angel collecting his strength for a second round in here? That certainly would have sounded logical, except for the fact that Malthael clearly had **died** back in the Pandemonium Fortress, of that Johanna, Tyrael and even Imperius (who remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the whole thing) made absolutely sure. There was nothing left of him, except for a burn mark on the ground carrying his shape. Tyrael said his soul returned to the Arch and awaited rebirth, hopefully.

So what would Malthael be doing here, and in such a shape, no less? Lyndon briefly glanced at the opening on the ceiling before returning to the angel lying among the debris. He fell through there. From where, Pandemonium? Did he actually somehow slipped away? No, that couldn't be it. Lyndon vividly remembered that glorious and horrifying moment when Malthael had been struck down: shards of the Black Soulstone and consumed souls violently ripped themselves out of his body, all seemingly taking a small part of him with themselves. Malthael had smacked into the ground and writhed to death as he was torn apart.

This simple but completely unscratched look was a far cry from that miserable end the angel had had.

Lyndon tried to focus all of his senses, reach out with them, but he felt no aura coming from Malthael, like he was a piece of rock. If he truly was gathering power down here (from **what** , even?), then he should have had something at least. He had been struck down half-a-year ago, that had to be enough time to at least start developing an aura, right? Was he just lying there the whole time? What sense did that make?

\- What the hell is wrong with you? – Lyndon asked finally, lowering his weapon.

 _\- Nothing._

The scoundrel just… didn't know what to do. Attack? Run away? Make sure this bastard would never get another chance at causing grief to Sanctuary? If he killed him now, Malthael would just return to the Arch and be reborn, maybe even keep his old memories so he could start right where he left off.

Besides it somehow felt… just **wrong** to strike down a foe that lied on the ground, doing absolutely nothing. If Lyndon could at least spot something, like a stream of souls slowly being sucked up by the angel, then he would have a good reason to attack.

 _He is the_ _ **Angel of Death**_ , Lyndon screamed at himself. _He had killed_ _ **millions**_ _by the time we managed to stop him. Is that no good reason enough to end him?!_

Malthael moved.

Lyndon's attention was immediately on him and he raised his crossbow, posture flying into a fighting stance. The scoundrel noted with slight dread that while he was having his brain-storming session like a _fucking_ **_idiot_** , Malthael had been studying him as well just as thoroughly from under his narrow hood.

The angel moved at an almost comically sluggish pace. He slowly sat up, then stood up, but with such slow movements that Lyndon felt like watching someone trapped in one of those weird time-wrapping orb things he had encountered in Pandemonium. As he moved, his sleeves brushed against his torso, revealing his coat to be actually black and releasing a thick cloud of dust.

Just how long had he been lying still there, seriously?!

Eventually, Malthael did manage to get himself into a standing position with a hunched back, and he stared down at the much smaller human.

\- _Good_ – he said simply.

Then he stepped forward and clumsily flung with his arm. It didn't even reach Lyndon, and no spell came out of his sleeves whatsoever. The scoundrel felt absolutely nothing, not even a breeze.

\- What—what the hell are you doing? – he asked, uncertainly eyeing the angel.

 _\- You wanted to fight, nephalem. So let us fight. And may the more capable warrior kill the other._

* * *

 **Man, writing's Malthael's complex lines was such a chore~**

 **My darling cupcakes, there ARE miracles in this world, afterall! Despite still having a decent amount of school work and exams to prepare, I somehow found the time and the motivation to write this chapter with relative speed. Thank Anu for that! Thank you all for your patience!**

 **Once again, cupcakes, a reminder: THE FIC IS NOT DEAD UNTIL _I_ SAY IT IS DEAD! Should that terrible day come (with the help of Itherael, it won't), I WILL write an Author's Note to let everyone know, that I solemnly promise. Unless that bitch pops up among the chapters, have no fear and channel Auriel's hope!**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner (I should make it a regular thing, huh)**

\- Bul-Kathos, Fiacla-Géar and Linarian: first generation nephalem, all three of them were born from angels and demons. Bul-Kathos became the ancestor and the first king of the Barbarian people, his brother/closest friend (it is kept vague in the lore), Fiacla-Géar formed the order of the druids from Diablo2, and Linarian (most well-known as **Rathma** later) was the only child of Inarius and Lilith, and later would become the founding father and later "god/patron" of the Necromancers.

\- The idea of angels having 38 words for "light" comes from me, inspired by the linguistic fact that each language has more words for certain things that are most important in the culture. The Inuit languages, for example, have far more root words for "snow" than English language does, naturally since those people live on the snow. It is a documented fact, although perhaps definitely not that overblown like certain articles claim. As such, the meaning of "Linarian" is also my addition to the story, nothing canon.

\- The shifting ruins of Corvus: it is stated in-game that Corvus was built by and for Nephalem (the architect was a guy called Daedass the Builder), as such the structures react to nephalem presence, shifting, opening or revealing a stash or hidden route.

 **GUEST REPLY**

 **- PaulM: Thank you so much for sticking around! Your worry was not baseless, that is true, I really did fall silent for long. Shit happened. :\ But perhaps now we are getting back on track slowly but surely!**


	26. Chapter 26

**_Chapter 26_**

Lyndon had had partaken in many, many barfights in his life. Far too many, to be honest. Drunken idiots lumbering around like animated logs, clumsily swinging their fists or trying to throw a chair or a table, only to hit themselves somehow…

Those people seemed like Ivgorod monks compared to Malthael now.

It was utterly ridiculous, this "fight". Malthael did nothing more than shuffle awkwardly and swipe with one of his arms, and all Lyndon had to do was occasionally step back or aside when the limb came closer to him than 30 centimeters.

\- Is… is this your attempt at humor? – the scoundrel blinked in confusion at his "foe".

 _\- There is no humor in a duel._

\- I would not call it that…

Some things in life were simply too strange to make sense of. This situation was one such case. Some small part of Lyndon was pretty certain he should have taken this seriously and riddle the bastard with bolts from his new crossbow. But he just couldn't do it. This was not a fight, he didn't even know what it was. Even Malthael did not act anything close to resembling threatening, determined or bloodthirsty, he just shuffled around like a really _really_ awkward male bird trying to woo a female with his dance.

Lyndon couldn't decide whether he should chide himself for thinking up that comparison, or start laughing. Honestly, either reaction seemed about right here.

\- _I remember you_ – Malthael spoke up, drawing closer once more.

\- Yeah, and I remember you. Wish I didn't, though…

 _\- You helped the Nephalem kill me._

\- So you **did** die back in Pandemonium.

 _\- Your duty now is to kill me again._

Lyndon lowered his crossbow even further in disbelief as his brain hopelessly tried to decode the archangel's insane behavior.

\- You… you want to **die** again? Is that what this is all about? – he asked, grasping for any kind of point of reference.

 _\- Yes._

\- Why—? – Lyndon tried to ask, only for something to occur to him.

That vision Lyndon saw… No, that couldn't be it. Could it? The scoundrel stepped back a few again to put some distance between him and the angel. But no matter from where he looked at it, that strange dream fitted strangely well into this picture of sheer chaos.

\- The Crystal Arch… – Lyndon began slowly, looking up at Malthael with green-lit eyes –, the Crystal Arch **rejected** you, didn't it?

Malthael froze up, and the scoundrel could almost feel the suddenly deadly glare coming from under the hood.

 _\- No._

\- Yes it did! – Lyndon exclaimed, pointing at the archangel. – That's why you are here, that's why you haven't been reborn in the High Heavens!

Suddenly everything in that vision made sense. The endless darkness, the inviting light suddenly turning cold and hostile, the wind that dragged him away from the opening, the accusation that he was not an angel…

There was no stopping Lyndon now.

\- You had **willingly** denounced Anu's Virtue of Wisdom, so the Arch had **disowned** you and it no longer sees you as an angel.

Malthael didn't say a word but was visibly shaking, fingers no doubt curled into fists in the long sleeves.

\- When you've tried to be reborn after Pandemonium, it rejected you and tossed you back down to Sanctuary. Now you want to die again, so that you'd have another shot at—

Malthael swooped and struck like a deadly snake, but he missed. Lyndon's mind, working overtime, registered the attack before it could connect and he teleported back instinctively, landing some meters away from his suddenly fast and serious foe.

\- I hit bulls-eye, didn't I? – the scoundrel hissed, green eyes blazing intensely in the darkness.

That had to be it! Angels were capable of sharing memories through physical touch, Tyrael had demonstrated that very well with Leah during Cain's funeral. Whether Malthael did it voluntarily or he just simply didn't give a damn and let it happen, was irrelevant. It happened and Lyndon saw it.

\- _You know_ _ **nothing**_ _,_ _ **mortal**_ _!_ – Malthael growled dangerously, his bland voice regaining some semblance of his former deadly drawl.

\- Oh but I do, don't I? – Lyndon grinned cruelly, putting away his crossbow.

There was no need for the weapon. He would bring this bastard to the breaking point with mere words.

Malthael struck again but Lyndon jumped back, easily reading his attacker. The angel was clearly enraged but he still did not possess his former strength and powers. It was still a drunken bar fight on his part, and Lyndon could evade him with little effort.

\- You have messed up tremendously, and you **know** you have messed up. You are just afraid to admit it to yourself, _Wisdom._ Angels and demons should not choose sides, yet you did just that, you chose to be evil out of your own will – Lyndon announced in a strong voice, making sure the entire hall could hear him.

 _\- I fought the corruption, demonspawn! I fought against your tainted blight upon Creation. I did_ _ **not**_ _choose sides!_

\- Oh but you did. Genocide is quite different with demons, isn't it?! Those bastards fight back, there is no situation when they are not dangerous to your kind, or when they are truly defenseless. Attacking and killing them is justified that way.

 _\- Your kind is_ _ **no**_ _different!_

\- Yes, we are. We are half angel, afterall. You have killed many of us, including the newborn, the weak, the sick, the old, those who had no idea how to fight or defend themselves properly. Even most of the warriors who could be a threat did not saw their end coming.

 _-_ _ **Silence, spawn of Hell!**_

\- Admit it, you have screwed this one up, and now you can't justify it, _evil_ Archangel of Death! – Lyndon shouted angrily, teleporting away from the advancing angel again. – And we both know the Crystal Arch does **not** embrace _evil_ beings.

Malthael let out an inarticulate screech of rage, he looked like he was about to fall apart. Black smoke rolled off of his coat, in the haze his form flickered, struggling to take on the Angel of Death once again and kill Lyndon for his transgressions. The effort clearly exhausted him, though, and it had no result whatsoever.

The angel initiated one final, enraged and desperate charge towards his enemy, but Lyndon easily sidestepped the attempt, silent and observing. Malthael missed and collapsed onto his knees, his angry screech turning into an equally sharp keening, not unlike the sound Quiet tended to make in fear or despair.

Lyndon had to forcefully shut out the feelings of worry and sympathy from his mind. This fucker was **not** Quiet, he reminded himself quickly. Malthael deserved everything he would get.

The black smoke slowly stopped sweeping from his form, revealing his once again featureless and bland appearance. The archangel cuddled himself on his knees, the keening dying down as well.

Silence settled back in, neither combatant moved.

 _-… You_ _ **will**_ _kill me, nephalem_ – Malthael said softly after a long pause, voice once again bland, if tired as well.

\- No, I won't – Lyndon answered, the green fire extinguishing in his eyes. – That would be the easy way out of this, Angel of Death. You do not _deserve_ it.

He turned around and walked towards the only exit leading out of this hall. He had no idea where he was in Corvus, how far or close to Quiet or to Tyrael. In a twist of bitter irony, it turned out that he was at fault for getting separated from others in the end. He had to somehow regroup with them. Then… they shall see.

 _Think in small steps ahead._

Lyndon heard Malthael move behind him, standing up from the ground. The scoundrel didn't bother to look back. Long steps followed him out of the hall, slow but easily keeping up with his shorter strides.

\- _You will kill me. I will follow you until then, nephalem_ – Malthael said simply behind him.

Lyndon pursed his lips but did not grace that with a response.

oooOOOooo

Quiet wanted nothing more than curl up on the ground and start crying, maybe call out for Leendonn. That ugly big red monster that had tackled him through a wall and down into a hole, really hit hard, and now the little angel's body hurt all around. The truth was, Quiet was tired, in pain and very afraid, and he could sense these feelings interfering with his powers greatly. Still, he refused to acknowledge it or even show it, mostly because of the companion Fate cursed him with.

Teeriel, the big mean bald man. He was not Leendonn, he wasn't kind to Quiet, he didn't care how the little angel felt or what he said. Why then should Quiet bother saying anything? If he showed how tired and hurt he was, Teeriel no doubt would frown and shout at him again anyway. Right now, Quiet did not feel strong enough to endure that.

He had to find Leendonn, he knew. His friend would keep him safe and make sure he was fine, not like Teeriel. This was the only thought that kept Quiet together and he held onto it, allowing it to guide him in this dark bad place. He didn't care what Teeriel said, how he growled at him _again_ for no reason… The bald man was just mean, and that was the end of it. Everything he said and did was to be mean to Quiet, simple as that. He had even accused the little angel of acting and wanting to destroy the world. He sounded just like Johhana! Did **everyone** think Quiet was bad?!

 _It had always been like this. Why would it change now?_

Quiet paused on this suddenly surfacing thought. Strange, it almost felt like he and Teeriel had a bad relationship for a long long time. Was it a test? Did the bald man somehow know that big grumpy angel and that scaly lady from Quiet's dreams? They were the ones who always said mean things to him in his sleep, called him a fool, said he made big mistakes, that he "shouldn't be here". Well, Quiet was getting very very fed up with these constant berating he was getting from people he didn't even recognize.

What do they know?! He would show them! They insisted that he was bad? Well then, he would prove them wrong all the more.

But for that, he would need to rest for a bit and regain his strength.

Quiet shook his head as he marched among the many pillars in this big hall, not even caring if Teeriel followed him or not. He had to banish these thoughts and banish them now. Leendonn was not here to keep him safe, he had to do it himself. Quiet felt out the black dagger tucked into his belt like a miniature sword. He had to make sure he would use this well and how Leendonn had taught him.

Something moved behind him but it wasn't Teeriel. This something emerged from the ground itself, its body phasing through the rock and soil. Quiet's senses picked all this up, as well as Teeriel's distant shout of alarm, and the seething rage emanating from the newcomer.

He turned around and couldn't help but scream and scramble back at what he saw. It was a hideous, see-through monster with leather wings partially sticking out of its back, a small but vicious-looking head, and long limbs with far too big palms and far too many fingers. It hovered in mid-air, posing in a pure light blue color.

\- _The Allfather is_ _ **back**_ _. How_ _ **queer**_ – it hissed menacingly in a pitched voice, empty eyes kept on the frozen angel before him.

It lunged forward and Quiet called upon the earth in panic. A pillar of diamond shot up from the ground… and passed right through the monster like it wasn't even there. The next second, however, when it smacked into Quiet and grabbed a hold of him, it was certainly solid and strong. The little angel screeched in terror, his powers shut down from fear, arms and legs uselessly swatting at the ghost.

\- _Remember us,_ _ **Allfather**_ _?! We remember_ _ **you**_ _! We_ _ **remember**_ _!_ – the ghost shrieked, dragging him up and away from his spot. – _We remember_ _ **well**_ _!_

Quiet simply couldn't help it anymore.

\- HEEEELLPPP! – he screamed hopelessly in Teeriel's general direction.

Would the bald man be angry, would he even care? Quiet didn't know. He screamed for Leendonn as well, but Leendonn wasn't here, only the bald man. Teeriel was the only one around who could help him at all.

The little angel was dragged upwards and into a dark tunnel that opened from the wall of the large hall. Quiet tried to hit his attacker, his small wings uselessly flapping to stop the maddening flying, but no matter where he tried to punch, his limbs just phased through the blue body, while the grip of the monster remained firm and tight.

Suddenly the dark tunnel ended, and the monster flung him forward, into the middle of an oval-shaped room. Quiet smacked into the ground with a yelp, pushing himself up from the mud with great effort. The walls were made of stone yet again, but the room was small and very very tall, with a grid at the top that let in some light, if not much.

Also, it was filled to the brim with those blue ghosts. They were screeching all at the same time on that same high-pitched voice, making Quiet's head almost split into two. He tried to drag himself up against the wall but the monster who brought him here grabbed and hauled him back into the center.

\- _The Allfather is_ _ **here**_ _!_ – it shouted to its kin.

The ghosts went absolutely crazy at this, the volume of their sound escalating rapidly, reaching levels that caused actual pain. Quiet covered his ears and screwed his eyes shut, hoping that this was just a bad dream and he would wake up soon.

 _\- Us, you_ _ **killed**_ _!_

 _\- Us, you_ _ **slaughtered**_ _!_

 _\- We were rebels, you_ _ **said**_ _!_

 _\- We will kill_ _ **you**_ _!_

\- I didn't do anything! – Quiet screamed back, tears spilling from his eyes.

\- _Lies,_ _ **Allfather**_ _!_ – shouted back his kidnapper.

\- That is not my name, monster!

 _\- Allfather_ _ **lies**_ _!_

 _\- Allfather is_ _ **cruel**_ _!_

Quiet's fear turned into rage at this. Yet another group of beings who insisted he was something he wasn't, who accused him of being bad.

He was done taking this abuse.

The next sound coming from him was a roar of wrath, deep and powerful, shaking the room and everything beyond it to its core. The monsters flew around in alarm above him, their voices drowned out completely.

Quiet wanted to see all of them dead.

Lances of deep red gems appeared from thin air, all shaped into deadly needles. They shot out, impaling a good chunk of the monsters. This time, their see-through nature did not save them, the weapons pierced them all the same. They tumbled to the ground, writhing in pain as they dissolved into nothing along with the needles. Quiet created more and more, sending them forward, focusing on slaughtering every single last—

One of the ghosts, who somehow evaded the strikes, dived him and phased through him. Quiet staggered, the room around him losing its focus. He thought he saw a large figure standing before him. His attacks slacked and failed, and the remaining ghosts all began their nose-dive, bombarding the little angel with their own bodies.

Quiet felt crushing fear as they were hunted, excruciating pain as they were struck down, their lives snuffed out, and each time he saw that large figure a bit more clearly. It was an angel, with proud wide wings of golden light, waving almost like the grumpy angel's blue tendrils. This angel, however, had stark white hair of shoulder-length, and a golden tiara with small wings on his forehead.

Quiet saw his past self hunt down and kill countless humans, each finishing blow was swift and precise and absolutely ruthless. He scrambled back, his body wrecked with pain, as his former self turned to him.

 _Inarius_

It was him. It had been him in the past.

\- YOU DARE QUESTION MY RULE, YOU WRETCH? – the angel rumbled in a powerful voice, taking a thundering step towards his small counterpart.

Quiet wept on the ground, hopelessly calling out for Leendonn, his powers leaving him completely.

There was an explosion of light that washed away Inarius' form and the screeching of the monsters.

oooOOOooo

Inarius' greatest strength and greatest flaw had always been his stubbornness. Once he got something into his mind, he would follow through with that, without stopping, without doubting. This boldness had led him into many victories, many acts of heroism, and also many more dangerous situations from which Tyrael, and the Angiris Council had to drag him out of.

Strange, Itherael and Auriel had nearly always been the ones initiating those "rescue missions", now that Tyrael thought about it.

The fallen angel quickly shook his head and dismissed that random thought as he tore across the hall, trying his best to follow Inarius' rapidly shrinking form in the darkness, being kidnapped by one of those Phantasms.

Did literally every monster in these goddamn ruins decide to target Inarius and **only** Inarius on this fine day?!

Tyrael cursed audibly as the hopeless call for help reached his ears and he doubled down on his running. He caught a glimpse of the Phantasm disappear into a tunnel opening a good handful of meters above the ground. He managed to stop himself just in time before he smacked into the wall (no matter what Lyndon said, maneuvering on the ground was hard!), and he looked up at the hole above him.

\- Anu damn it to the Burning Hells, Inarius. Why don't you **ever** listen?! – he let out a deep huff.

With a small jump he latched onto the wall and slowly hauled himself up to the opening with some effort. Climbing was yet another activity angels pretty much never did. Tyrael helplessly kicked with his legs in mid-air, but eventually he fought his way up to the tunnel, where he had to sat on the edge and catch his breath. He didn't dare to imagine how hard this would have been, had he been in his usual attire of full body armor and a heavy cape. Instead, he still wore the clothes from the night spent with Sophie. Their small weight was a great help right now, even if their lack of defense was generally very off-putting.

With one final deep breath he turned around and began crawling through the tunnel, grumbling curses under his breath, mostly aimed at the little angel. Of course Inarius would retain his former thick-headedness, the very thing that caused the most trouble in his career. The man decided he would employ a couple of hard slaps after this smaller adventure, to get his point across for the stubborn angel.

He was somewhere halfway in the tunnel when everything around him shook with fierce power, and Inarius' angry and definitely **not** child-like roar filled the air. Freshly made plans about slapping the angel immediately forgotten, Tyrael clawed his way forward with great hurry, the sound setting off all kinds of alarms in his head. The dying screeches of the Phantasms reached his ears, but by the time he was nearing the end of the tunnel, those voices changed: now it was Inarius crying and screaming for Lyndon (once again in his kid-like voice) and the ghosts shrieking in triumph. Tyrael could even make some words out, like "Kill him!", "Kill him now!".

He didn't even know Phantasms could talk.

He threw himself forward, and stumbled out into a room that looked like a mostly dried up and long forgotten well. Still dangling from the tunnel's entrance, Tyrael saw the Phantasms flying towards the helpless form of the little angel curled up in the mud at the bottom.

\- Inarius! – the man shouted, but even he could tell his voice did not have any effect.

Dear Heavens, he wouldn't make it! He struggled out of the tunnel, throwing himself to the ground below. Just as he landed, rolling over his head, the Phantasms reached Inarius.

There was a sudden burst of blinding light, filling the well, raining down from the grid above. Tyrael covered his eyes with a painful shout, tears suddenly filling them, while the Phantasms screeched in terror, hopefully fleeing this place finally.

The mysterious spotlight kept on shining for a few seconds, heating up the inside of the room like an oven. Then, it was gone as if cut by a knife.

Tyrael carefully opened his eyes slightly, but had to close them almost immediately. The spotlight had been replaced by a slightly less bright, but still very bright being. Squinting, raising his hand to block the rays out, Tyrael thought he saw a humanoid figure standing above Inarius in an almost protective way.

\- **This is just a mess** – a powerful voice suddenly boomed.

\- Who are you?! – Tyrael demanded, one hand grabbing the newly summoned El'druin's hilt tightly.

He was still pretty much blind and couldn't even look upon the newcomer, so he honestly didn't know what good his weapon would do in this situation.

 **\- To you, angel? No one. But I must say you are doing a pretty** ** _awful_** **job at being the Guardian's substitute for the time being.**

\- What?! Start making some sense, fiend!

\- **Fiend?! Bah, angels are such self-absorbed idiots, the lot of you!** – the voice grumbled angrily. – **Fine! Have it your way, fool!**

The harsh light died down, Tyrael could finally open his eyes. That did not help to make sense of things at first, though. As he focused on the torso, the fallen angel thought he was looking at an Ivgorod monk, not unlike Mikulov who had helped him and his group steal the Black Soulstone from the Heavens some time ago. But as his vision cleared of annoying flashing spots, he noticed more and more details that completely threw off that idea.

The "monk" had a powerful frame, but his skin was crisscrossed by lines of pure light that looked like they were forcefully held back from burning out the fallen angel's eyes once again. The traditional Ivgorod clothing was of liquid gold and it was flowing around the body like a river. The head was…

Tyrael had to double-take. The being had a literal campfire on his shoulders, in the place of the neck and the head. A nice stack of sticks, dried leaves and coal was burning brightly with flames.

\- **There! Happy?! I assumed my fire aspect just for your** ** _pleasure_** **, angel** – the campfire said.

Tyrael thought he saw a face with moving lips, formed out of the flames, but it quickly melted away.

\- Who—Who in the Burning Hells are you?! – the fallen angel gawked, unable to shake off his stun.

 **\- First you call me a fiend, and now you accuse me of being a demon of the Hells?!** – the campfire frowned at him, Tyrael was almost sure of it.

\- Are you a nephalem?

\- **What? No! I am Ytar, you dense being of light!**

\- As—as in the Sahptev Ytar? Ivgorod's god of the sun and fire? – Tyrael stammered, something from Deckard's old writings surfacing in his currently fuzzy mind.

\- **Yes! Patron of Monks, Bringer of Light, Provider of Heat, He Who Crosses the Sky, Sentinel of Ways, Guardian of—!**

\- But you don't actually exist – Tyrael pointed out in disbelief.

The campfire positively shrank down, before suddenly roaring up and striking towards the ceiling.

\- **WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY, ANGEL?!** – he thundered, the lines on his body almost spilling out their light from anger.

\- The gods all across Sanctuary are not real! – Tyrael insisted angrily, gesturing with El'druin wildly. – Made up by the countless cultures that dot these lands, in order to explain things that cannot be explained.

\- **SACRILIGE!**

Dear Heavens, this lunatic sounded just like Imperius…

\- **We** ** _are_** **real, foolish angel!** – Ytar claimed loudly, angrily stomping his feet.

Inarius twitched violently under him and curled into ta tighter, shakier ball, muttering Lyndon's name in delirium. Immediately, Ytar's campfire head shrank back to normal size and he carefully stepped away from the angel.

\- **Forgive me, Allfather, I cannot help the nature you had given me** – he defended himself hurriedly.

\- Wait, you—you came to save Inarius? – Tyrael blinked at the scene.

\- **That is not his name now, fool! Respect his wishes!** – Ytar frowned at him again.

\- What did you just call him?

\- **Allfather.**

\- Why?

 **\- Because he had created me, of course! Me and every other god upon the glorious land of Sanctuary!**

\- What are you—

\- **Enough!** – Ytar boomed, nearly stomping again, but stopping himself a moment too soon. – **I have been forced to come down and save our Father from Those Left Behind, because** ** _you_** **were not capable enough!**

\- Now wait a minute—! – Tyrael chided angrily, but was swiftly cut off.

\- **As the substitute of the Guardian, it is your duty to keep the Allfather safe! And so far, you have failed** ** _spectacularly_** **, if Zaim's report is anything to go by.**

Tyrael needed a moment to recall that Zaim was the Sahptev god of mountains, another preferred patron of the monks.

\- It is not my duty to guard Inarius! Nor is it my fault that he is so thick-headed that he cannot stop and think things through! – he shouted back angrily.

 **\- The Guardian, a mere man, had been doing just fine up to this point. We follow his work with great enthusiasm** – Ytar snorted in disapproval, then added more solemnly. – **The Seven had even tried their best to help him on his quest, may their rest be eternal and peaceful.**

\- Why do you even think it is my task to keep him safe, then? Guide Lyndon back to us, if he is truly such a great Guardian.

 **\- We cannot!**

\- Why? Because you have no power, unlike you claim? – Tyrael narrowed his eyes at the god.

The campfire actually darkened, and a deep growl came from it.

 **\- You do not understand the first thing about gods, angel** – it rumbled with displeasure. – **The Allfather had created us to keep the world going and keep humanity on its path, away from utter chaos. Our task, our duty and destiny is all that. We cannot act directly, only observe and influence others. I should** ** _not_** **be here, ungrateful angel, do you understand?!**

Ytar looked down again to Inarius.

\- **My task is to provide life-giving light, warmth, and sense of purpose and determination to the people of Ivgorod, especially to its warriors. By coming here and saving the Allfather, I have violated just about every law and limit we gods possess. But I just couldn't stand around and do nothing, while the substitute Guardian lets our Creator die!**

\- What about those seven jade figures then?! They were most active, if Lyndon's tale is to be believed.

 **\- The Seven had been unique. They were not a god, but a guardian spirit. They were allowed such bold actions, as long as they had a good enough host body. We… are a different breed, you may say.**

After a short pause, Tyrael finally reached down and gently scooped up the shivering little angel into his arms. Inarius immediately latched onto his coat, muttering Lyndon's name over and over again.

\- Why? – Tyrael asked, looking back up to Ytar. – Why is Inarius so important that he needs Guardians, and has all the gods watching him?

\- **The short answer is quite self-explanatory: look at him, fool** – Ytar gestured at them. – **He is small, weak, fragile. His powers and mind are far from developed. He has a lot to learn, and he needs someone to teach him.**

\- And the long answer? – pressed on Tyrael, getting that distinct feeling that Ytar was narrowing his eyes at him at this.

If he had eyes, that is.

 **\- I believe you already know, or at least suspect it, angel.**

\- No, I do not.

 **\- Sure you don't** – Ytar waved dismissively.

\- I am serious! – Tyrael frowned at him.

 **\- Enough!** – the god boomed. – **I have already greatly outstayed my welcome. Heed my words, angel. Until you are reunited with the Guardian,** ** _you_** **are responsible for the Allfather. We have waited ages upon ages for his return, and I can promise this in the name of all the gods of Sanctuary: there will be a terrible price to pay, if we lose him once again because of you.**

\- Yeah, got it – Tyrael grumbled.

 **\- It is important, now more than ever before that he is well-prepared** – Ytar warned him.

\- Why?! What is going to happen? – the fallen angel immediately snapped his attention back at the god, the hair on his neck standing up.

The room around them rumbled violently, causing the man to flinch away.

\- **Hm, that was Zaim's warning** – Ytar grumbled, looking at the walls. – **He has a point, though, I truly am crossing more lines than advised.**

\- Wait, answer my question first! – Tyrael reached out to him.

 **\- Sanctuary needs its Father, angel. We are at the mercy of your kin and of the demons. That cannot stay, nor will it, Fate's willing** – Ytar said gravely. – **And now the worm once again returned to the apple and already ate her way inside. Her teeth even reached the gods, may her name be eternally damned!**

\- What?!

Another, more violent quake ran across the room. Ytar sighed deeply.

\- **This is less than ideal, leaving the Allfather in the care of you who carry so much ill-will towards him. But it cannot be helped** – he grumbled.

The god began to melt away, turning into liquid light. Tyrael had to shield his eyes once more, one hand covering Inarius' face as well.

\- You didn't answer! – he shouted one last desperate time.

\- **I cannot trust you enough to give a straight answer, but** **I did what I could,** ** _scholar_** **. Work your way up from there! And for gods' sake, keep the Allfather** ** _safe_** **, will ya?!**

With that, Ytar was gone, leaving behind an overheated, but once again dark well, as well as a deeply confused and annoyed Tyrael.

* * *

 **Ah, the joys of having such an intricate and detailed lore that I can work such wonders with...**

 **It's good to be over and done with that shitstorm that was the end of this semester at school. And while I STILL have some technical obstacles before me (currently having my laptop at maintenance; experiencing blackouts because of electricians working in our house), I finally have more free time! I can also probably and hopefully rekindle my inspiration and motivation for creative work, including this fic! Let's go, cupcakes!**

 **A lineart on DeviantArt I had done as a celebration: -kenyizsu-.-deviantart-.-com (dash) art (dash) Diablo-Creators-of-Sanctuary-lineart-7487594999**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- Enraged Phantasms, the blue ghosts in this chapter, are a type of enemy in Act V, found in the Sewers of Westmarch, as well as in the ruins of Corvus. They are annoying, they are little bitches, and I hate them. According to Tyrael, they are the remaining souls/ghosts of early nephalem who were born with more demon than angelic attributes. Makes you wonder what a more angelic nephalem would look like...

\- Past-Inarius' capitalized speech is taken from the Sin War Trilogy books, where he talked in such a manner (when not in his human disguise, of course).

\- That throw-away line, about Ihterael and Auriel initiating the rescue missions for Inarius, is a reference to my other Diablo fanfic, a oneshot titled "A Single Chance".

\- Mikulov is an Ivgorod monk with blooming nephalem powers. He got mixed up in an adventure with Deckard Cain and Leah against an army of undead, and later he joined Tyrael's borderline suicidal group of heroes who eventually "stole" the Black Soulstone from the Heavens, before it could corrupt everyone and everything there. Naturally, the angels almost killed him as a thanks. But he's okay!

\- The Sahptev is the religion of Ivgorod. It contains 1001 gods, some of order, some of chaos, who live in all things around the world. Every person is born under a sign of a god, and tends to follow that path in their life. Monks, however, are often known for choosing their own patron gods. Most choose Ytar, the god of sun and fire (like your monk character in the game), others choose Zaim, the god of mountains.


	27. Chapter 27

**Jesus, this was a hard delivery...**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 27_**

Tyrael had to wonder if his frustration was the result of him being Wisdom now, or he just simply had had it with these random unexplainable things here on Sanctuary.

Honestly, the High Heavens was such a straight-forward place: everything was in order, the plants glowed, the water glowed, the Crystal Arch constantly sang and occasionally brought forth a new angel, the joined resonances of the angels enveloped everything. There were definitely not absolute unforeseen things there, like an actual **god** appearing and giving a half-baked explanation of an already chaotic situation.

Tyrael had to readjust his world view, something he was not really good at. Apparently, at least _certain_ gods of certain human beliefs were real and were busy tending to the world in their own way. This of course brought along a lot of questions, all which only the old Inarius could possibly answer, but not this wrecked, shivering ball in his arms.

\- Why don't you ever listen? – Tyrael sighed helplessly as he climbed out of the tunnel with Inarius, back into the large hall of nephalem stories.

The little angel looked miserable: while no serious physical injuries could be seen, he acted like he had a high fever, with violent shivers and delirious mutterings of Lyndon's name. The little fingers curled around Tyrael's coat, impossible to tear away without damaging the clothing as well.

\- Inarius, the phantasms are gone now – Tyrael tried weakly to calm the little angel down, but of course no reaction came.

The best he could do was sit down under a slab of the partially collapsed ceiling that formed an almost tent-like cover. With no wood to gather and make a campfire out of, this hardly counted as camp-making. Tyrael gave himself in to his fate with resignation, trying to ignore the cold, his parched throat and the growling of his stomach.

He had no idea what to do now. Lyndon had handled Inarius with natural ease and surprising grace, the little angel was hanging on his every word, but Tyrael had a feeling he wouldn't have that great of a success in replicating it. They didn't exactly start off on the right foot, afterall. The best he could come up with was bundling Inarius into his coat's wings and awkwardly pet his head.

\- It's alright. The danger has passed – he mumbled, helplessly glancing down at his companion.

\- Leendonn…

\- He is not here. We need to find him, remember? We have to move.

\- I want Leendonn…

\- I know you do, but we have to find him first—

\- Leeeeendooonnn…

Tyrael sighed hopelessly at this. He entertained the idea of getting up from the ground and start walking again, but he was exhausted from the day spent with running from one place to the next. His head, although mended, throbbed at the back where it had collided with the stone wall. Tyrael wrecked his brain, trying to guess what Lyndon would do in this situation, but came up with nothing. At least, nothing that would work for him as well. He petted the small head again.

Tyrael had never really known what to do with his little brother, and apparently this inability followed him to his mortal life as well. Should he be lenient with him? Harsh but fair? Worry constantly for his well-being or let him discover and learn on his own, even if with painful lessons? Back then, even upon being born, Inarius had been far more developed than now, and Tyrael still couldn't do smack with him. Now, in this state? He had even less of a clue.

Tyrael grimaced as something buzzed in his mind, jumbling his thoughts a bit. He swatted away the diversion, focusing back on the matter at hand.

Lyndon was gentle and kind with Inarius, Tyrael recalled uncertainly. It was quite incredible to see how the scoundrel, who was best known for his thievery and double-crossing shady dealings, showed so much trust towards anybody, and received the same amount in return. Then again, Lyndon did go through a lot, and _changed_ a lot as a result during their adventures together. The same could have been said about everyone involved.

Still, seeing Lyndon as a father figure was truly something remarkable, as well as completely unexpected.

The buzzing was getting louder, and Tyrael needed a few moments to realize why. It wasn't buzzing, but **scuttling** , all around them. The fallen angel jumped to his feet with a shout and summoned El'druin into his free hand, scanning the area by its light.

A million empty black beady eyes returned the stare.

oooOOOooo

 _\- Quiet. Interesting choice of name for an angel._

Lyndon almost stopped dead on his tracks at this throw-away comment.

He did **not** feel his mind being read.

\- Get out of my head – he gritted his teeth.

 _\- Weak, small, underdeveloped. Not a true angel._

\- I said get out!

 _\- An abomination of creation._

Lyndon whipped around and pointed his simple dagger at Malthael behind him. The angel made no move to get out of the way or take up a fighting stance, instead he waited patiently for the blow. Lyndon took a sharp breath as he reeled in his emotions, and erected a mental defense around his mind as best as he could, with no real training. His green blazing eyes bore holes into his unwanted companion, but he refrained from stabbing him.

Of course Malthael would not give up so easily on his quest. However, Lyndon could play this mind game as well.

\- He's no true angel, huh? – he echoed, putting away his dagger. – I wonder what the _Crystal Arch_ would have to say about that.

Malthael remained silent but he ducked and pulled back his head a bit more than usual, giving away his discomfort and silent anger.

\- What did it say, again? "You are no angel"? – Lyndon went on, turning back towards his path and continuing down on it.

 ** _\- Silence._**

\- You have no right to talk, you rejected mistake of Creation – the scoundrel snorted, waving dismissively.

Sixth sense flaring up, he instinctively teleported a couple meters forward, swiftly evading the strike coming from behind. Malthael's terrifying focus was nowhere to be found, and a small part of Lyndon (a quite idiotic part, no doubt) even enjoyed pissing the angel off.

There was a sense of triumph in seeing this high and mighty archangel be this disheveled.

Malthael's snap quickly ended and the unlikely pair fell back into their normal, silent trudging through these ruins. Once again, Lyndon entertained the idea of simply teleporting away from the angel, shaking him off that way. But so far he couldn't muster his courage to do it. Having more than enough time to ponder, he came to the conclusion that the more he thought about the action of teleporting, the more likely he screwed it up. Recalling every occasion he executed it perfectly, it was obvious they were instinctive and instantaneous. Lyndon simply couldn't stop himself from thinking too hard on where to teleport to away from Malthael, and that would have ended up in a disaster. He could land in a room with no exit, or above a bottomless pit, or right on top of a smaller army of those Flesh Golem bastards Adria had left behind, or straight into a scarab nest, or…

Lyndon just gave up and focused back on the road ahead. So far everything was silent and dark, nothing came their way. His time would come when he would shake off this silent bastard behind him, but until then…

 _\- That angel's very existence forced you to run from your friends like a fugitive._

… Lyndon would need to learn to better wall off his mind.

\- It's okay – he spat with venom. – I wasn't planning on staying with them for long anyway.

 _\- Yet you are scared, aimless… you wish things could be normal again. That_ _ **you**_ _could be normal again._

-… You do **not** want to go there, angel – Lyndon said in a dangerously low voice.

The second the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake.

\- _You are drowning in questions_ – the angel went on, excitement **almost** noticeable in his bland voice. – _You do not know why you are doing this, what you would gain from all this pain and misery you have endured. You do not know why everyone you loved and cared about turn to a dark path, why your friends want you dead. You do not know why you are_ _ **different**_ _now._

\- Malthael…

 _\- Everything is the fault of that little angel—_

Lyndon tore off his crossbow from his back, turned around and fired faster than even he thought possible. The bolt of light embedded itself into Malthael's right shoulder, causing him to stagger back and fall over. The angel took a ragged breath and reached for the bolt, but Lyndon was faster. He forcefully stepped onto the hand reaching for the arrow, pinning it against the chest, then yanked the bolt out of the body. Malthael hissed in pain, or perhaps in anger, it was hard to tell. Lyndon kept his eyes on him as he let the bolt disintegrate among his fingers.

\- Reading my mind without my consent is one thing, Malthael – he said slowly and evenly. – But lacing my own problems and thoughts with lies is another. Quiet has _nothing_ to do with this mess I am in, and I damn well know that. You leave him out of this.

 _\- Or what? Will you kill me?_

\- You see this place? – Lyndon gestured around almost nonchalantly. – Do you know anything about Corvus, _Death_ , or are you only knowledgeable in angelic history?

Malthael remained silent, seething with anger.

\- Nobody knows this place is here, only a handful of people. But even those know very little of it – Lyndon added before leaning in closer and hissing malevolently. – I will find a dark room with no light and no exits, **deep** underground. I will trap you in there, where no one will ever find you. You will stay there, you won't die, you won't return to the Crystal Arch. And you will **never** see the light ever again, _angel_. Do you understand me?

The deadly glare was palpable from under that bottomless hood.

 _\- I killed thousands upon thousands. I will kill more, if you leave me alive, nephalem_ – Malthael rumbled.

\- You think yourself superior with your mind reading, but we humans can read others easily as well – Lyndon's eyes gleamed. – You can no longer kill anyone. You can no longer do **anything** , really. These are all clearly shown on your appearance.

He lifted his boot from the angel's chest and holstered his crossbow once more, turning back to the path he had been following.

\- You know damn well that if you repeat your little _stunt_ , you will have even less chance at passing through the Arch after dying than before – he added nonchalantly.

Malthael too stood up, clutching the slightly bleeding wound on his shoulder.

 _\- This is not over yet. You have doubts. I will use them._

\- Of course. Tell me, what are your thoughts on releasing the united Prime Evil onto your people again? – Lyndon threw this comment over his shoulder.

Malthael visibly flinched and ducked his head.

\- That's what the hell I thought, Angel of _Death_ – Lyndon grumbled.

Silence settled back in, broken only by their footsteps.

oooOOOooo

That comment about the Prime Evil had shut Malthael up really effectively for a good while.

He remained silent even when Lyndon finally stopped after some hours to dig through his backpack for some food. He checked what Captain Haile had prepared for them, and was pleasantly surprised by the beef jerkies, dried fruits and hard tacks, all meant for the long run. Haile truly was a military man, and he knew what he was doing. While the food itself was not exactly first-class, it was more than perfect for travelers or those on the run.

There was only one problem: Lyndon had one flask of water stacked away, and unless he found his way out of here by the time that ran out, it would be difficult to replenish. During their travels, Quiet had taken care of that problem with ease when there was no water source nearby.

 _I got spoiled_ , Lyndon thought with a small smile as he bit down on one beef jerky, sitting on the floor.

\- You hungry? – he asked out of habit, offering a hard tack for Malthael who just stood next to him like a statue.

 _\- Angels do not eat._

\- Quiet does… some things, at least.

 _\- He is an abomination of nature._

\- Whatever you say, Angel of **Death**. Because you are so natural.

 _-…_

\- Does that mean I am right?

 _\- You certainly have a way with words. Not like the Nephalem._

\- Is that a compliment? Never thought I would hear such a thing from you – Lyndon glanced up at his "guard", honestly surprised by the comment.

 _\- Demons have a way with words too._

\- As do you, eh? What about Urzael, and all the maidens and others who followed you into Death?

 _\- They saw the inherent evil of your species, nephalem._

\- And all of them, every _single_ **_last_** one of them came to the same conclusion that shunning their aspect and turning evil was the best solution to that problem. Right?

Malthael fell silent once again.

\- You have led your own people into ruin, Malthael – Lyndon shrugged. – I can't even imagine how many of them suffered the same rejection as you—

He casually teleported some meters away, with backpack and everything, avoiding the snake-like strike coming his way.

\- Lashing out at the harsh truth won't make it go away – he said matter-of-factly, finishing his brief meal. – If you were Wisdom, you would know this.

 _\- You have_ _ **no**_ _idea about wisdom, nephalem_ – Malthael growled, slowly reverting back into his statue-like state after that brief outburst.

\- Of course. I certainly wouldn't be able to compete with your former self. But things have changed much since the glory days, haven't they, Death? – Lyndon stood up, gathering his stuff, and setting out once again in this featureless corridor.

That is, until they passed a certain part of the wall. It shifted and sunk into the floor, turning out to be a door and responding to Lyndon's presence. The scoundrel had a fraction of a second to teleport out of the way of the red fist that flew at his face. He landed behind Malthael, almost losing his footing. From the newly revealed doorway, a Flesh Gorger burst out with a mighty roar. Then another one followed it. Then another, then another…

\- I thought these ruins were supposed to **aid** a nephalem, gods damnit! – Lyndon shrieked angrily as he laid eyes on the horde of at least a dozen Flesh Gorgers blocking their way forward.

\- _Demonic magic_ – Malthael grumbled, slowly retreating.

\- Out of my way, you useless waste of space! – the scoundrel barked angrily, swooping past the angel.

He was really not in the mood to run away from a bunch of monsters that would no doubt follow him. He readied his crossbow and fired a shot into the closest one. The Gorger screeched in pain as the light bolt scorched its demonic flesh, cutting through it like it was butter. Before it could even tumble onto the ground, Lyndon already fired the next arrow into the beast behind it.

He truly loved his new weapon.

The Flesh Gorgers, less so. After immediately losing two of theirs, they charged forward with a defiant roar. Lyndon fired one more bolt into their midst before picturing appearing behind the horde in his mind. He teleported… right above one of the Gorgers in the middle and landed on it hard. The monster honked in alarm and scrambled around, Lyndon found himself grabbing onto the scaly back and spiked shoulders, shouting profanities as he held on for dear life. The rest of the thick-skulled beasts need a minute or two to catch up with the sudden twist, while their kin lumbered around trying to shake off its rider. The perfect crossbow came rattling among the many feet of the monsters, just barely not getting trampled.

Still hissing curses at everyone and everything, Lyndon yanked his dagger out of his belt and channeling his green power into it, he slashed across the wide red back, cutting through the neck as well. His mount stumbled forward and he found himself among the remaining Gorgers. With a defiant shout, Lyndon threw himself at them, relying heavily on his sixth sense not to get smashed into a pulp in the first three seconds. The beasts struck at him but he skidded on the ground between his legs, slashing through their thighs with such force it actually severed the legs from the rest of the body. He sprung up, striking with his blade in a wide arch and raking up the sides of some. He danced away from the enraged punches, taking down more and more of his opponents. Finally, he yanked his dagger out of the forehead of a Flesh Gorger, seeing no more before himself.

His sixth sense flared up, but his body was too tired to act fast enough and he was jerked up from the ground and thrown into one of the corridor walls so hard it rattled his entire skeleton. He tumbled to the ground in a broken heap, forcing his eyes open. Three Gorgers stayed alive, all standing behind his back the whole time. With a triumphant roar they raised their fists, ready to charge.

The one in the back suddenly went under, crushed into the ground. The second one was swatted aside like it weighted nothing, it flew through the wall. The last one tilted its head back, but two pale-skinned hands grabbed its maw and with a sickening crunch broke its neck, then flinging the limp body away like trash. The end of the struggle revealed Malthael, standing where the last Gorgers stood a moment ago, hands slowly sinking back into the long sleeves and arms falling limply by his side.

Lyndon tried to push his body up from the ground. While the backpack itself worked as a kind of cushion between his back and the wall, this "cushion" was still stuffed with bags of gold coins, a walking cane and food. He thought he felt a spreading wet feeling there too. Either that was his blood, or the crushed and completely ruined water sack. He honestly hoped it was the latter right about then. His body refused to move though, and a dull pain exploded into his back. Lyndon's breathing grew rapid with growing panic as he imagined more and more horrifying injuries there.

\- Oh gods – he breathed, sweat trickling down on his forehead.

Malthael slowly walked up to him, then crouched down, placing his hand between the backpack and body. Lyndon stiffened up, expecting a blow or a curse, but the magic trickling into his back was of the mending type. It was cool and soothing, even if dismayingly weak and slow.

\- I thought… you hated all humans – Lyndon pointed out weakly, coughing a bit, shivering from the spell.

 _\- You cannot kill me if you are dead, nephalem._

\- Those Flesh Gorgers could… do the trick as well, you know.

 _\- I do_ _ **not**_ _bow down to mindless beasts._

Lyndon couldn't help the wry smile that crawled up on his face. If nothing else, he could still count on the natural pride the angel yet possessed even after everything. That was useful information.

Malthael's healing magic, while definitely working, was weaker than any healers' Lyndon had ever gone to in his life. They would be here for a while.

\- Damn… you are worse than a little girl that started practicing healing a weak ago – he chuckled weakly.

 _\- Do you wish to stand again, demonspawn?_

\- Yes, I would very much like to. Thank you for ask—

 _\- Then_ _ **silence**_ _._

\- Hey now, no need to sulk just because you lost most of your awesome powers.

 ** _\- I said silence._**

\- At least now you know how Tyrael is feeling in his situation – Lyndon pointed out then finally fell quiet, content with just lying on the floor and gathering his strength.

Malthael looming over him like a crow did not really ease the atmosphere, but the scoundrel was too tired to really pay attention to that. With the cool magic spreading throughout his muscles and bones, and his somehow unscratched crossbow lying not too far from them, Lyndon felt like it would be the perfect time to doze off a bit.

That is, until his ears picked up an irritating and _characteristic_ scuttling further down the corridor.

* * *

 **Screw this weird Writer's Block. I am currently NECK-DEEP in Diablo-related motivation (links to my drawings on DA at the end of this), but for some goddamn reason, this son of a BITCH-W****-F*****S _refused_ to get together. There was even a large part I had to cut out and move to the NEXT chapter, so... at least that is looking well currently... Jesus.**

 **ANYWAY, thank you cupcakes for being patient with me! I've got the best audience, I swear. ^^**

 **Guest reply**

 **PaulM:** At this point, everything is game! :D Who knows, Akarat, some random spirit from the Unformed Land, our favorite Chinese Dragon who is here in this Universe for some reason... Anything! Thank you for putting up with my dumbass schedules! ^^

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- Malthael is still a piece of shit... You know, in case it wasn't obvious enough.

\- It is stated by the developers, that 1) Malthael WAS able to channel and use the power of the Prime Evil and was NOT taken over by her during that boss fight. Tough son of a bitch that angel is. And 2) after Malthael's death, the Prime evil did NOT fall apart to the Seven Evils again, but remained united. And I guess... currently it's still a "she".

\- Flesh Gorgers are a type of blood golems, formed from earth, stone and demon blood. They are inferior to Flesh Shamans and they prefer human flesh, because it enables them to become more human-like... for some reason. Adria is a nasty piece of shit, can't say I'm surprised that she produces beasts like that.

\- Everyone who has set FOOT into Corvus before, knows what that scuttling is. Don't lie.

 **DeviantArt links (while I was struggling with this chapter, I was on a ROLL with pictures)**

 **Lunch Break:** kenyizsu-.-deviantart-.-com-(slash)-art-(slash)-Diablo-TFS-Lunch-Break-749389819

 **Creators of Sanctuary (finished the lineart from before):** kenyizsu-.-deviantart-.-com-(slash)-art-(slash)-Diablo-Creators-Of-Sanctuary-finished-749562066

 **Sketchdump:** kenyizsu-.-deviantart-.-com-(slash)-art-(slash)-Diablo-Sketchdump-I-750148618

 **I will do what you cannot:** kenyizsu-.-deviantart-.-com-(slash)-art-(slash)-Diablo-I-will-do-What-you-cannot-750533747

 **New Achievement** : kenyizsu-.-deviantart-.-com-(splash)-art-(splash)-Diablo-New-Achievement-750803398


	28. Chapter 28

**_Chapter 28_**

If someone told Tyrael not long ago, that he would be deathly afraid of scarabs one fine day, he would have shooed the guy away while muttering "what a moron" under his nose.

He had been proven wrong.

These little ugly insects were the bane of every treasure hunter ever, but usually they did not mean more than prolonged annoyance in their smaller groups. Right now, they had decided to ditch that tradition and form an **army** instead.

Tyrael could feel sweat trickle down his neck as he returned the stare of a million black beady eyes. He clutched Inarius closer to his chest, desperately trying to come up with a way to escape from this unexpected horde. He could conjure up a force field with El'druin, but that would only prolong their fall. He had no magical abilities with areal effects, swinging alone would not get them far.

It took him minutes spent in sheer dread to realize something most odd: the scarabs did not advance.

Tyrael knew well how these mindless insects behaved, they attacked anything and everything that moved, if they thought their number was great enough for that. Despite that, the little beasts did not lunge forward, only looked at him and his sword. There was movement at the far end of the hall, and Tyrael had to force his eyes to make it out. To his alarm, the sea of scarabs was much much wider than he originally thought, as far as he could see, the ground was covered in them, perhaps the entire hall. The movement was caused by a large form that reached up to Tyrael's hip.

The fallen angel's hold on his sword grew tighter as he saw the newcomer. It was a scarab, alright, but much bigger than its kin. Its barbed tail and spiky appendages were big enough to punch through a human body, its chelicerae looked like it could bite off a limb easily.

The king scarab scuttled among its followers, stopping about a meter from Tyrael. Its empty beady black eyes reflected El'druin's light. Tyrael held his breath, holding his sword in front of him.

Nothing happened.

The fallen angel frowned in confusion, allowing his eyes to dart away from the king scarab for a second and onto the sea of insects around him.

\- Are you… controlled by someone? – he asked aloud, uncertainly seizing up their situation.

Of course no answer came, but that had to be it. Scarabs did not act like this.

The king scarab suddenly twitched, it raised one barbed limb. Immediately Tyrael's attention was on him, he waved El'druin in a threatening manner.

\- Back off, beast! – he shouted defiantly.

The king scarab uncharacteristically carefully drew just a tad bit closer, its pincer almost pointing at Inarius. Tyrael glanced down at the angel uncertainly.

\- Are you doing this? – he asked.

Inarius mewled pitifully, wiping his tears into his shirt, still shivering.

The king scarab drew back and slightly turned to the side, letting out a shriek that sounded like an order to its kin. In return, every last insect in the hall began buzzing: their hind legs tirelessly rubbed against their carapaces, creating dry rustling sound that quickly grew annoying. Tyrael wanted nothing more than cover his ears, but both his hands were full. The scarab sea waved, combined with the sound and El'druin's shivering light, it was almost hypnotic. The fallen angel had to look away, clenching his teeth at the assault of senses.

\- Shut up, shut up! – he shouted, closing his eyes in a last-ditch effort to close everything out.

The buzzing grew louder, still. Tyrael could feel his brain resonating with the sound, ever so slowly lulling it into an alarming, but also welcomed numbness. He opened his eyes as his mind grew to accept the cacophony, wondering what was going on exactly. He felt numb and distant, thinking whether or not it was a new scarab hypnotic technique to lure the prey. It made no sense, but it was apparently working.

Inarius twitched in his arm, jolting Tyrael out of the numbness partially. The fallen angel looked down, seeing his companion move uncertainly. The gems in his wings and tiara shimmered with an inner red light, something that was definitely **not** there before the scarabs began their performance. Inarius finally opened his eyes, blinking out the tears. A strange haze was leaving the red orbs, and the angel appeared to be more and more active as the buzzing continued. His body heat was rising. Tyrael looked out onto the sea of scarabs and beheld something incredibly strange.

He saw what was happening clearly in the hall, due to the soft red hue that seemed to be emitting from the insects as they scuttled around. The bugs moved, swirling around them like an actual stormy sea, the red light growing stronger in their midst.

Inarius pulled himself up a bit in Tyrael's hug, taking up a more sitting position. He stopped shivering. Tyrael let El'druin down, desperately trying to decode what he was seeing. It looked almost like the scarabs were dancing, and the red light was a product of this. Did these creatures possess magic, after all? Were they more intelligent than anyone thought?

The king scarab shrieked again, and everything stopped, just like that. The red light extinguished. The returning silence felt like a slap across the face, it jolted Tyrael's mind out of the numbness with a painful snap. He shook his head, mouth agape at the once again dark hall where nothing moved. Inarius squirmed in his hands, forcing him to set him down to the ground.

The little angel stumbled forward but quickly regained his footing and uncertainly approached the king scarab. It chirped but did not make a move. Inarius slowly placed his two hands on the head, giving it a gentle long stroke.

\- Thank you – he said softly, voice weak but firm.

The king scarab chattered again, letting its tail and pincers hit the floor as it actually **leaned** into the touch, like an overgrown cat.

\- Thank you – Inarius repeated, somewhat louder.

The insect finally drew back and it barked at its kin to follow the example. The scarabs retreated, slowly scuttling away into every last nook, crack and hole the hall's structure could offer. In a matter of seconds, the hall stood empty once again, as if nothing has happened. The king scarab chirped at Tyrael and Inarius one last time then disappeared into the darkness as well.

Tyrael took a deep breath. Whatever was going on, it was centered around Inarius. And Tyrael was getting really sick and tired of all these unexpected twists and turns. He could somewhat sympathize with Lyndon now, all the crazy stuff he had to endure before arriving to Westmarch.

As far as Tyrael was concerned, however, he would find out what the hell was happening here exactly. He glanced down at Inarius, the gems on his body once again dark and unassuming.

\- How are you feeling? – he asked, awkwardly petting the small head.

-… Better – mumbled Inarius.

 _"_ _Better", but not even close to "well"_ , Tyrael understood.

\- Come on. Let's go find Lyndon – he said, uncertainly taking a step.

\- No.

A surprised pause.

\- What? – Tyrael stared at Inarius.

Instead of answering, the angel crouched down and skimmed his fingers over the ground. Before him, the stones morphed into three distinguished shapes: a bowl that quickly filled with fruit and bread; an iron cauldron filled to the brim with fresh water, and two ceramic cups next to it; and a neat little campfire that self-combusted the second the twigs were in place.

All this, out of nothing but rock and ground.

Tyrael took in a sharp breath, eyes involuntarily glancing at the red gems in the wings again.

\- We eat and drink. We rest – Inarius said simply but firmly, sitting down onto the suddenly carpet-covered floor. – Then… I will go and learn who I was.

-… What about Lyndon? – Tyrael followed his example, not sure what else to do.

\- He is well, I can sense it now – Inarius exhaled loudly, closing his eyes briefly in concentration. – The scarabs will find and protect him until he is down here, they said.

Of course he would understand the insect's speech. After all this chaos, Tyrael wasn't even remotely surprised by that.

\- You wanted to see him – he pointed out, taking a cup and filling it with water.

\- I do. I miss him. He's my friend… unlike you – Inarius nodded, staring into the fire. – But I have to learn more **now**.

\- Why?

\- I just do.

Had he been still an angel, Tyrael would have argued, he would have pushed for a clearer answer. But his brief time spent as a mortal had taught him well that humans don't always act out of logical reason, but out of emotion. And Inarius **was** being brought up by a human, that no doubt had great effect on his mind. Add to that the angel's legendary stubbornness and impulsiveness, and you've got an unreasonable force on your hands.

\- It would be wiser to find Lyndon first, then go on this quest – still, Tyrael tried.

\- I know – Inarius said, idly playing with a burning twig.

\- Then?

\- He will worry too much.

\- As he should. He cares about you.

\- I know. And I know you don't care about me.

\- Inarius! – snapped Tyrael.

\- You don't care what my name is – the little angel shrugged, voice full of disinterest but not much else.

Tyrael fell silent, frowning at his partner.

Did he really never care about Inarius in his life? It was difficult to say, even looking back on everything that has ever happened between them. He had certainly **tried** to care about him at the same level as he did with the rest of his subordinates. Whether or not that worked… it wasn't really clear, especially with him being a nigh-unfeeling angel in the past.

\- Eat, drink, rest – Inarius gestured at the bowl of fruit and bread. – I will leave after that. You will do what you want.

\- A lot of people would skin me alive, if I left you alone – Tyrael grimaced, finally reaching for his dinner. – I have little choice in the matter.

He could almost feel a small shift in the ground under him, perhaps Zaim giving his approval of the decision. Or maybe this was his way of saying "damn _straight_ ".

 _At least do not spy on me constantly, will you?!_ Tyrael thought bitterly.

He had really had more than enough of creepy stalkers when Balzael had decided to be the bane of his existence for some reason. He really didn't want a repeat of that.

\- Do you even know where you should start? – Tyrael asked, munching on some bread.

Inarius closed his red eyes and took a deep breath:

\- I see… a big white building. It's really nice. And a big big grassy field. I know where it is.

The Cathedral of Light. Tyrael visibly grimaced, but did not comment.

What did those Phantasms do to Inarius in the well? Did they unleashed memories from his old life? It certainly looked like it. The little angel had been very adamant about not remembering anything up to this point.

\- I know that place as well – Tyrael said in a low voice. –It is a long way from here. How do we get there?

\- Don't know yet. I will think of it – Inarius sighed, lying down on the carpet.

That wasn't very reassuring, but Tyrael guessed this was the best he would get right now. So he just silently drank and ate, calming down his stomach and parched throat. The fallen angel was silently grateful for this sustenance, despite how **disturbing** Inarius' powers were. He had never seen anything like it before, not from the Angiris Council, not from the Seven Evils. There was conjuring: calling upon an already existing object from somewhere. His bond to El'druin was very much the same. But actually taking materials and twisting them into something completely different…

That was next level, beyond everything and everyone, except for the Crystal Arch and…

 _"_ _I believe you already know, or at least suspect it, angel."_

Tyrael had a feeling that Ytar was truly right about that. Frankly, the mere idea chilled him to his core.

What would it mean for the future… for **all** of Creation's future?

oooOOOooo

Teeriel was afraid of him, Quiet could clearly sense that as he lied on the carpeted floor, curling up into a ball. This one time, the little angel couldn't blame or frown at his companion. He was afraid of himself too.

Whenever he closed his eyes, the remnants of the pictures those ghosts forced into his mind came back to haunt him. Quiet saw his former self, huge, powerful and _ruthless_ , crushing every opposition from the humans. The pictures were confusing and tangled, but Quiet thought he saw his past human form with golden hair and too perfect features. He shuddered. All the humans they had met after that bad bad town with the demon in it, had seen him with golden hair as well. Now that he saw flashes of what he used to be like, suddenly he wasn't all that happy with his disguise.

The ghosts awoke something in him, Quiet could feel it. Very bad emotions resurfaced, heavy and dark and ugly, weighing him down and screaming bad things at him. The scaly green lady and the grumpy angel cleared out completely, he could recall every detail about them, except for their names. Their accusations grew louder, and Quiet couldn't fight back against them as much as before.

Was he really bad? The pictures seemed to agree.

Quiet felt an unpleasant strain inside his chest, like a growing bubble. It did not want to go away, it frustrated him, drove him to look for answers finally, once and for all. He suspected this bad feeling would have been much worse, had he not been so tired. After some sleep, he would set out to find that place with the large grassy land, no matter whether Teeriel followed or not.

Quiet was past the point of caring about that.

He reached out with his mind again. After the scarabs' great help, rejuvenating him with their contribution, Quiet's powers returned to him more or less. Now he used them to reach out, to see without eyes and seek out certain things. He felt Teeriel's body becoming calm and normal again from the food and water and the warmth of the fire, which was good. He felt the scarabs rushing to their destination, keeping their promise. Thankfully, he could not detect any of those ugly red monsters or the blue ghosts nearby. Far away, he felt Leendonn very faintly. There was something off about him, like he had been hurt, but Quiet could also pick up some kind of magic that helped him. That quelled his fears a bit. Where did that magic come from, though? The little angel frowned, straining his senses, but couldn't feel anything or anyone besides Leendonn.

Strange.

He could also feel the remnants of some rotten magic that lingered in the ground, in the air, in the plants. It was really evil, trying to eat away at life, but thankfully it was also very weak now.

 _The Firstborn… he will_ _ **pay**_ _for this_

Quiet shook that weird thought away and focused. High above them, he skimmed the surface, feeling the humans live their lives undisturbed, not even detecting the shreds of the deadly aura. That somewhat calmed that strange anger inside him.

And he felt **her** move around. What exactly Johhana was doing, Quiet couldn't tell, but it could not have been good because it involved a lot of other people around her. Fearing of being found out, the little angel withdrew into himself and tried to fall asleep.

\- 'm sorry, Leendonn – he mumbled silently to himself, touching the black dagger in his belt.

Part of him wanted to seek out his friend and reunite with him… but something inside, perhaps that bad bubble, told him that he needed to do this **now** , without his friend. He couldn't wait, he couldn't hesitate, and Leendonn would try to shield him away from it, and worry himself sick about the little angel.

Quiet didn't want that to happen to his friend.

\- See you soon. Promiss – he vowed, as his eyes finally closed.

* * *

 **Hm, this IS a shorter chapter than usual, I admit, but I felt I needed to divide the story at this point.**

 **Now, onto Ch29, which is currently facing some technical problems. For starters, I need to make a decision regarding it and I have yet to do that. Second, next week a 4-week-long internship will start at a company, so I won't have that much free time. Third, I... MAY have fallen back into the Venus Flytrap of gaming: "Zeus, Master of Olympus". Perfect zen city-builder game with Ancient Greek mythology and history, fucking love it. I am so sorry, cupcakes... I cannot fight its siren song. Maybe soon, but not right now.**

 **BUT I promise I will do my best to keep on going with TFS! Love you all, cupcakes!**


	29. Chapter 29

**_Chapter 29_**

Lyndon really didn't need that jolt of pure panic upon seeing all those disgusting scarabs pouring out of every crack in the walls, ceiling and floor around them.

Malthael quickly pulled his hands away from his still injured back, and turned to their new adversaries with determination. Lyndon, barely able to move yet, scrambled against the wall while shouting curses, bumping his painful back into the stone. That did not help to stop the stream of profanities.

The scarabs did not advance however. They stopped some two meters away from the duo, then in one line they parted, giving way to their apparent king or queen or whatever these little beasts had for a ruler. The giant scarab took the crossbow into one pincer on his way, and carried it back to Lyndon with surprising care. The scoundrel stared at his weapon lying before him as the large insect retreated back into the two-meter radius, and glanced almost expectantly at the human.

\- _Disgusting beasts_ – growled Malthael, but he too did not make a move.

-… I think they might be controlled by someone – Lyndon breathed, not daring to speak louder.

A few tension-filled minutes passed but nobody made a move on anybody. The scarabs looked positively bored, and soon even Malthael mirrored that look with his posture, turning back to Lyndon and placing his hand on his back once again.

\- The hell are you doing?! – Lyndon hissed at him.

 _\- Healing you, demonspawn._

\- We've got bigger problems than that!

 _\- No. They are not attacking._

That was a good point there, giving Lyndon a pause. The scarabs were clearly bored out of their primitive minds, but they did not leave or advance. At some point, a smaller commotion broke out somewhere in the back but the king scarab quickly put an end to it with a loud screech.

-… **Are** they controlled by someone? – Lyndon mumbled, growing uncertain of his previous hunch.

Scarabs did not act this way, but surely, bewitched scarabs would not start something as natural as a bit of scuffle out of boredom. They would have been unmoving statues that just awaited orders, not go after their own heads more or less.

Something occurred to Lyndon as he wrecked his brain. Back in the Bloodmarsh, as they fled for their lives from the maddened Johanna…

-… Quiet sent them – he concluded out loud, recalling the horde of bogans that had been summoned by the little angel.

\- _The abomination talks to beasts._

\- **Quiet** can do a hell lot more than that. I have a feeling he is stronger than you have ever been, _Death_ – Lyndon angrily bit back at the angel.

 _\- Impossible. He is weak and foolish._

\- He sure as shit survived more than you ever did! If you look through my memories, at least have the decency to pay attention to them! Have you not seen what shape he was in when I found him? – the scoundrel snorted angrily, not even caring about the fact that he was basically encouraging the angel to keep up his habit.

\- _Irrelevant. I do not care for it, nor have I seen it_ – Malthael said simply.

Of course he hadn't. Lyndon just wanted to kick the asshole wherever it hurt the most for angels. Malthael would only search for painful memories, or ones full of doubt and fear, to exploit them. At times like these Lyndon truly had to wonder if angels and demons really were **that** different, or they just liked to get stuck on the "general appearance" talking points…

 _See you soon. Promiss._

Lyndon snapped his head up and looked around frantically as much as he could from his pose. He couldn't pinpoint where this sound came from exactly.

\- Quiet? Quiet! – he called out, sure that he had heard the little angel's voice just now.

 _\- It_ _ **is**_ _quiet, demonspawn_ – Malthael mumbled.

\- Not that, you dense waste of space! – Lyndon barked angrily at him. – I heard him! He told me something!

 _\- I heard nothing. You imagined it._

\- Oh fuck off, will ya!

Lyndon tried to push himself off from the ground but his straining back protested and sent him right back where he was. Malthael undisturbedly continued his pathetically slow healing. The scarabs kept looking bored.

Lyndon bit back a curse at his injury. He wanted nothing more than to run off in a random direction and search for Quiet until he succeeded. He was sure he had heard the little angel's voice, however soft and distant it may have been. What did he mean by "see you soon"? Were they close to each other?!

Yet that message carried a foreboding aura with it. It sounded like a _farewell_ , even if temporary. It made Lyndon's blood freeze and he struggled harder to get up.

\- **_Stop, demonspawn!_**

\- Go fuck yourself, Malthael! I need to see Quiet right the hell now – the scoundrel shouted at the angel, swatting his hand away.

He refused to acknowledge that his vision was getting blurry from tears.

An uneasy ripple ran across the scarab horde around them, and low but tense chattering filled the air. Clenching his teeth, Lyndon pushed himself up from the ground to drag himself forward. The scarabs barred his way, however, pressing their bodies close to form a low but pretty much endless barricade. Lyndon wanted to snarl at them to get out of the goddamn way, but something grabbed a hold of the end of his coat and he was pulled back. The king scarab almost sorrowfully chattered at him, holding him back. The scoundrel kicked the ugly beast straight in the face. The scarab staggered back but refused to open its pincer.

Before things could get really ugly, Malthael struck out and finally made contact for the first time: he pinned the struggling human against the stone by the throat and kept him firmly there. Lyndon tried to free himself, but even moving the arm proved to be impossible.

\- **_Stay_** – hissed Malthael at him angrily.

\- Let me go! Why the hell do you care?!

 _\- The scarabs cannot kill you before you kill me._

Lyndon's eyes flashed up green with rage and he kicked again, sweeping Malthael's legs from under him. The angel crashed into the ground with a grunt. Without thinking, Lyndon teleported, every fiber of his being focused on finding Quiet.

Maddening pain exploded into his back so suddenly that he didn't even have time to cry out before the darkness swallowed him.

oooOOOooo

 _See you soon. Promiss._

Lyndon found himself rushing through a dark place, not unlike where Malthael had had to slug through while he was finding his way back to the Crystal Arch. The scoundrel was shouting Quiet's name, but only the echo answered, and the occasional whisper of "Promiss".

What happened to his little firefly?! Was he in grave danger? Was he bewitched? Did someone try to tear them apart?! Lyndon shuddered at all the terrible possibilities. He stopped, spun around, trying to spot something, _anything_ that would give him a point of reference, but only darkness greeted him.

\- Quiet! – he shouted with all his might. – Where are you?!

 _Promiss._

No. No! The scoundrel grabbed his own head in distress, nails sinking into his skin. They mustn't separate, they must remain together! How could he keep the little angel safe otherwise?!

How would he be worth anything then?

With dread, Lyndon began to run again, perhaps to escape from these thoughts.

He was nothing, his life meant nothing. He was only here for one thing: to keep Quiet **safe**. Whatever the reason may have been, it didn't matter.

 _A soldier must have a clear goal and a clear reason for everything he does!_

Lyndon was no soldier, yet he finally knew his goal… unfortunately.

 _You know your purpose yet, kiddo?_

Yes. Guard Quiet. Why? Because otherwise Lyndon would have no reason to exist. That was the big answer to this mystery. Lyndon had no family or home to return, no friends who accepted him into their fold. There was **nothing** for him, he was worthless, a thieving little blight on the world that had more than enough problems without his meddling as well. At least with this little angel, he was somewhat _useful_. Without Quiet, Lyndon honestly saw no reason to go on. There wasn't even Edlin or his family anymore to be a motivator.

The scoundrel stopped his aimless run and listened with gasping breath. He could no longer hear Quiet's farewell. He slowly sank to his knees, hugging himself, he curled up into a tight ball, not even trying to fight his tears anymore.

This was it. There was no reason to go on any longer. Not even the little angel thought him worthy anymore.

 **\- Enough, Guardian. Snap out of it!**

The booming voice jolted Lyndon out of his despair so hard, he fell backwards and had to push himself up from the invisible ground with his elbows.

Before him, suddenly stood the oddest creature he had ever seen: it looked like an Ivgorod monk with lines of pure light criss-crossing the muscular body, liquid gold robes. Only the head was that of a campfire that almost revealed a face from its flames at times.

\- Wha—who?! – Lyndon stammered, scuttling backwards on all four.

 **\- Do not tell me you have adopted that fallen angel's pathetic method of "not even going to try"! You are much better than this!**

\- Who are you?!

 **\- Ytar, Saphtev god of sun and fire, creation of the Allfather.**

\- Wait—

 **\- Before you ask:** ** _yes_** **, all the gods of Sanctuary exist, and** ** _yes_** **, I know who you are, and** ** _yes_** **, the Allfather is… partly… the being you call "Quiet". So I know what I am talking about.**

Lyndon stared at the newcomer, who radiated a welcoming warm light. He gulped audibly, trying to regain his thoughts. The sudden and quite bored info-dump of the newcomer shocked him even more than his appearance did.

-… Where the hell did _you_ come from? – he finally asked, finding his voice, if only for this one stupid question.

 **\- From the planes surrounding Sanctuary. That is the home of the gods.**

-… Y—you are serious, aren't you?

\- **Yes! –** the campfire lit up brighter in anger. **– Why is it so difficult for everyone to wrap their head around this?!**

\- You are kind of a mythos, to be honest – Lyndon stated softly.

 **\- Bah! These limitations, stopping us from actually proving our existence… they will be the death of me one day, I swear. I already had to violate every single one of them today, to make sure the world does not topple over into chaos!**

Lyndon fell silent, staring at the god before him. He should have been far more stunned than this at this reveal, but he was so exhausted mentally that he could not muster the energy for it. He stared before himself emptily, his mind slowly returning to his plight, and how horribly true it was.

He was worthless now.

\- Why are you even here? – he asked meekly. – What does a god care for a speck of dust like me?

 **\- Guardian, you are selling yourself much too short! Who has protected the Allfather up until this point from even himself? Who has been teaching him the right way to live?**

\- Lot of good, that did to me, didn't it?! – Lyndon shouted angrily, snapping his head back up. – I have done all that because they had been my purpose, plain and simple!

 **\- Are you absolutely** ** _certain_** **, mortal?** – the campfire was "tilted" to the side, almost sliding off the shoulders.

\- Yes! Yes, for fuck's sake I am – Lyndon stood up, not even caring about his tears anymore. – Look at me, Ytar! Aren't you supposed to be the patron of monks?! Do you see anything in me that they have?! Strength, resolve, a sense of purpose?! Anything at all?!

Ytar remained uncharacteristically silent as he observed the struggling human before him.

\- I have been a "Guardian" of Quiet, because there is literally nothing else in my life! I latched onto it, just so I could have some worth. And even in that, I fail spectacularly! I let him get hurt in Kingsport, I let him slaughter innocent people because I hadn't seen the signs, and now I was the sole reason we got separated from each other! I am a goddamn mess, an absolute failure, not even my brother's family was safe from my actions! – Lyndon rambled on, grabbing his hair in agitation.

He suddenly let his hands fall down and mumbled hopelessly:

\- I cannot blame Quiet for leaving me behind.

That was it, he finally admitted it to himself.

 **\- So… you are worthless, you say. You have no purpose outside of protecting the Allfather?** – Ytar finally spoke up in the silence.

\- Yes. You wish to rub it in, god of monks? Go ahead – came the weak reply.

 **\- Why did you rid Kingsport of that madwoman Rea then?**

Lyndon paused for a second.

\- Your buddy, those Seven jade-figures asked me – he grumbled.

\- **You could have ignored it –** Ytar shrugged. **– They had not ordered it, and even if they had, you weren't their underling. You could have refused. So why didn't you? Visiting Kingsport was not a crucial part of protecting the Allfather, you could have just skipped it and headed straight for Westmarch.**

Lyndon fell silent, staring blankly before himself.

 **\- Instead, you got inside Kingsport. You made sure you left a good amount of money for that old friend of yours so she could restart her life, should things get back to normal again. You released a tortured Treasure Goblin from Rea's grasp, even though there was nothing to gain from that. You faced and killed the monster Rea became, who had been hunting citizens. Why? What did you achieve from all that, regarding your "mission"?**

-… Vengeance? – the scoundrel said in a low voice, much _much_ less unsure of himself than he had hoped.

That answer somehow sounded wrong, even to him.

\- **Giving money generously to the brothel's mistress was out of vengeance? Setting free the one you call "Luther" was out of vengeance, Guardian?** – the campfire most certainly raised an eyebrow at this.

\- I… I do not know – Lyndon admitted softly, losing the last bit of firm ground from under his feet.

 **\- You were partially right in your ramblings, scoundrel: you do have differences with my monks. You are undisciplined, you waver inside, you have trouble accepting your true nature. You cannot take lectures and criticism well. You are sometimes clumsy, and your "method" of mastering your blooming powers is rather painful to watch** – Ytar explained, earning a smoldering glare from Lyndon.

\- Anything else to add? – grumbled the scoundrel.

 **\- Yes. You are also resourceful, cunning, loyal and reliable. You are empathetic on a level not many people are. You have a strong sense of justice, you are not afraid to stand up for those you care about. You are strong in your own strange way, you use your powers the best way possible in every situation. You are brave and your resolve is unbreakable when truly put to the test.**

-… None of that are true now – Lyndon casted his gaze to the ground once more.

 **\- Everyone, even monks have their abyss of fear and darkness, from where they must climb out themselves from time to time. You are no different** – Ytar shook his campfire-head. **– You had many similar lows in your life, yet you conquered them all. 'Tis but another bump on the road, albeit a wild one. Despite this, you are still a good man with good intentions.**

Lyndon remained silent for a while, trying to think with his mind that was still mostly numb from despair.

 _Stop whining and do something to make it better, damnit!_

He shook himself slightly.

\- Quiet said his farewells – he pointed out. – I do not blame him for leaving me, but—

 **\- That was only temporary. Have you not listened to the words, Guardian?!**

\- I did, but… why?

 **-… I cannot claim to know the Allfather's mind. But I can tell you he does not wish to leave you behind. His decision** ** _is_** **of a good reason, whatever it may be. And he still loves you, fear not. He will do whatever he can to be reunited with you as soon as possible.**

Lyndon could only hope the god was right.

-… Do you know… how Quiet is? – he asked meekly then, glancing up at the god.

\- **I thought you'd never ask, Guardian** – Ytar seemed to smile impishly.

Suddenly the muscular body collapsed into itself and the campfire came crashing down onto the ground. As it landed, a flash of light erupted from it. Lyndon staggered back in alarm, but by the time he blinked twice, it was all over.

The proud large campfire now took on the form of a small miserable one, with a few twigs and stones surrounding it. Its light did not carry far, but it was enough to illuminate the carpet-covered stone floor around it, the plates of food and the jug of water, and the slumbering Quiet and Tyrael around it.

Lyndon's heart fluttered a bit as he laid eyes upon his little firefly.

Quiet was a bit ruffled, and he slept curled into a tight ball, but he seemed unharmed. On the other side of the campfire, Tyrael snored softly on his back, El'druin standing by in his grip.

They were together, and they were alright. Lyndon couldn't imagine better news right there and then. He sighed in relief, longingly looking at the illusion.

It was clear they weren't actually here: half of their bodies, which was not touched by the weak light of the fire, seemed to be missing, and their form sometimes shimmered as the flames flickered. Quiet mumbled Lyndon's name and turned around, so that only his back was visible now. Still, Lyndon couldn't help but crouch down next to the little angel and pet him on the head. His fingers passed through the mirage, of course, still his relief was so great, he felt like his legs would give in any minute.

\- See you soon, Quiet – he whispered through his tears of joy. – I promise!

He stood up and drew back from the picture. The small campfire melted back into the large one, and in a flash, Ytar reappeared fully.

\- Thank you – Lyndon nodded his head, wiping his tears away.

 **\- The least I could do, for your services to our Creator** – Ytar returned the gesture in kind. **– Listen, Guardian. The path ahead is difficult, as it always is with life. You cannot lose sight of the truth, though: you are a good man, and a hero of Sanctuary. Let that guide you, even when you cannot personally watch over the Allfather.**

\- I am no hero, Ytar – the scoundrel waved the comment away.

 **\- Yet you risked your neck against all sorts of monsters, by the side of the Nephalem, and even after her, to save people. What do you call that?**

\- Suicidal fool?

 **\- That is often an important job requirement for heroes** – Ytar nodded, grinning through the flames.

Lyndon snorted bittersweetly at the remark.

\- I… do not know where to go now – he admitted then. – And I have this idiotic archangel on my back. Any ideas?

 **\- I would suggest you find your way out of that labyrinth first. Your watersack was trashed in the fight** – Ytar grumbled. – **As for the angel, I cannot really help with that. I hate angels, especially that one right there…**

\- He is an unpleasant one, true – the scoundrel agreed absentmindedly. – Guess I will have to figure something out for that.

 **\- A painful death for him, I would hope.**

-… No promises. But the idea is tempting – Lyndon smiled wryly, to which Ytar grumbled in agreement.

Silence settled down on them.

\- Seriously, though… Thank you, Ytar. I really needed this – Lyndon looked at his visitor in gratitude.

 **\- Even my monks need a little support from time to time. I got very good with these pep-talks over the centuries** – the god answered. – **What you need to do now is let that damnable angel heal you fully, then set out and find your way to the surface. The Allfather shall make sure you will be reunited one way or another, and us gods will keep watch and help as well… if we are able.**

\- Alright. Thank you again – Lyndon nodded. – This is goodbye then, Ytar?

 **\- Yes. For now, at least.**

\- Take care then.

 **\- Stay strong, Guardian. You don't even know how important you really are to Sanctuary** – Ytar waved in farewell.

Before Lyndon could ask him what he meant by that, everything melted away around him, and he woke up, dangling from a cliff.

oooOOOooo

Angels had curse words. That was a fine lesson for the day.

Lyndon couldn't really understand what Malthael was chittering on his mother tongue (… Crystal tongue? Arch tongue?), but it sounded very angry and barely restrained. Despite lying on a narrow cliff above a literally bottomless pit, being half-paralyzed by his aching back, Lyndon smiled wryly at the curses flying at his head, as the archangel staged a hasty rescue mission with the scarabs.

During his disastrous teleportation, Lyndon did manage to travel a few dozen meters before his injury knocked him out cold, and he ended up landing on a cliff somewhat deep inside an abyss. Now, he was lying on the cold stone, awaiting Malthael's arrival. The archangel looked absolutely ridiculous: he was using a rope made of scarabs to descend slowly. The little insects hissed in displeasure but they held surprisingly firmly onto each other.

\- What's the matter? Your wings not working, angel? – Lyndon chuckled weakly as Malthael got into arm's reach.

- ** _You are not worth the effort, demonspawn_** – the archangel hissed menacingly, but still he reached out and grabbed a hold of Lyndon's outstretched arm.

\- Who else would kill you then down here? The Flesh Golems?

 ** _\- Silence_** – Malthael boomed irritated, making Lyndon erupt in uncontrollable chuckling.

The scarabs signaled to each other, and they began to slowly but steadily haul the two travelers out of the hole. All the way, the scoundrel couldn't help his soft laughter at the situation. His relief that Quiet was not alone, that he was more or less well at least physically, really did lift a great load off of his shoulders. He just didn't know how to express it in that moment, considering he was mostly unable to move.

Outside of the hole, the scarabs staggered out of the way, completely spent from the effort. Malthael lied Lyndon down to the floor and began healing him again.

 _\- Do_ _ **not**_ _move, demonspawn, or so help me Anu…_

\- You certainly seem livelier than when I found you, Malthy – Lyndon commented impishly.

 _\- That is not my name._

\- Maybe I should do this more often to keep you on your toes.

 _\- Don't. Even…_ – Malthael hissed agitatedly, but then he just let the sentence go, realizing it was futile anyway.

So he donned his usual moody silence and went back to the healing, refusing the rise to Lyndon's jabs. The scoundrel figured that was fair enough, and he too fell quiet, pondering on his vision. He could tell it was no mere dream. He actually met a god of Sanctuary in person, and had a conversation. Seeing Quiet by the fire was the happiest moment he had had in this despicable underground city up to this point. He refused to think that was only a pointless hallucination. That all happened. No questions.

Now, Lyndon had another small step to focus on from his list of never-ending tasks: get healed.

Then, get out of Corvus by any means necessary.

He could do that, Lyndon thought as he sunk back into a well-needed, dreamless sleep.

* * *

 **Phfew, it's finally here! My internship (that's coming to an end, at least temporarily) takes up most of my time these days, and I also had to make a tougher decision regarding this chapter.**

 **Remember when I mentioned that joke-chapter, scheduled for April 1st, then postponed to an unknown date? Yeah. I planned this chapter to be that one. But... as I wrote it, and got around half-way, I realized it had no place in this setup. On April 1st it would have made sense and even worked, but outside of that day, it would be just confusing, or downright harmful to the pacing and the general tone. So I have decided to ditch this idea completely and started the chapter from scratch. I also think I will not actively seek a way to post a joke chapter. Should the opportunity arise once again next year, and I ACTUALLY have the time to prepare for it in a worthy manner, I shall take it. But this is not a promise, merely a possibility.**

 **As always, you cupcakes are a true treasure with your patience and understanding. ^^ Please welcome our newest crewmember, darkhelmetj, and check out her Malthael-centered story, "In All Things Light and Dark". She deserves some more recognition.**

 **Thank you and take care!**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

This chapter was mostly inspired by this YouTube song: watch?v=BZvty-jyIw


	30. Chapter 30

**_Chapter 30_**

Getting out of Corvus was not even close to a challenge when an all-controlling angel was by your side, Tyrael noted.

After a long and surprisingly peaceful sleep, the duo woke up, had some breakfast, then Inarius simply raised them out of the ruins on a ground pedestal. The ceiling above them parted, letting them through. No Phantasms or Flesh Golems got in their way. After an hour or so, Tyrael felt fresh breeze on his face as they rose to the surface and the pedestal settled into the ground. The effort clearly spent Inarius, but the little angel tried to stagger to his feet. Grumbling about stubbornness, Tyrael scooped his companion up from the ground and began walking in a random direction.

\- So where to now? – he asked Inarius as he looked around.

They were no longer in the Bloodmarsh, instead the ground was finally solid and dry, grass rolled in the morning wind, and patches of trees dotted the land all around. The air brought the slight scent of the sea with it. They were close to the Gulf of Westmarch. Tyrael had no idea they travelled this much underground. Or maybe Corvus was even able to bend space in a way. He wouldn't have been surprised by that either.

\- We travel – Inarius answered simply, clearly not comfortable in the hug.

\- Yes, I thought that much – Tyrael grumbled. – But the Cathedral of Light is far away from here. We should use a few Waypoints on the way.

\- Then we find waypoints.

\- The closest I know about is in Westmarch. Perhaps Johanna had left that place already…

Inarius squirmed his way out of the hug, and hopped onto the ground. He looked like he zoned out for a second, maybe concentrating on something.

\- This way – he said softly and began walking to the west.

Tyrael, having no better idea, followed him. The little angel fell awfully silent ever since that matter with the Phantasms, but this also meant that arguing or even reasoning with him became nigh-impossible. He just stated what he would do, and he went to do it, end of the conversation. The fallen angel had a bad feeling this would cause some serious trouble later on, but he had no idea how to prevent it.

What was he supposed to do here, Tyrael pondered as he trudged after his companion. Inarius himself stated that they weren't friends (which was true), Tyrael was creeped out by his powers (which no doubt the little angel sensed), and the fallen angel also did not possess Lyndon's people skills (which was unfortunate). All this just spelled "disaster in the making", but for the life of him, he couldn't come up with a solution. Should he just start to talk randomly? About what? Would Inarius even listen? Tyrael knew he would have pulled his hair out in frustration by now, had he had any.

Maybe checking back to Westmarch wasn't such a bad idea. If Johanna was truly gone from there, he could maybe go visit Sophie and ask for advice. Also spend some time with her to unwind a bit.

That would be nice.

Tyrael sighed longingly. He wished from the bottom of his heart, that he could go back to his usual days of slowly forming the Horadrim, gathering and documenting texts and just spend more time with Sophie, going to plays and markets and such. Instead he got dragged into this mess, Johanna tried to kill him, and the literal gods of Sanctuary followed his every move with a critical eye.

Life was unfair, Tyrael decided bitterly.

Absent-mindedly, he glanced at Inarius' direction. The next second Tyrael lunged forward and grabbed the little angel by the hand, yanking him away from his spot. Inarius screeched in alarm, but Tyrael was retreating at a hair-raising pace, practically fleeing from the suddenly animated tree they were trying to pass.

Bark creaked and bent and one thick branch came crashing down, barely missing the two travelers. The roots pulled themselves out of the ground and formed four thick legs, on which the entire plant stood up and towered over them.

A wood wraith. Just perfect.

Still holding Inarius in the air by his hand, Tyrael summoned El'druin in his other palm.

\- Back off, fiend! – he shouted with all his might, swinging the sword in a wide arc.

The damnable tree reared back a little, hissing in an unpleasant voice at the sight of the weapon.

\- Can you order it?! – Tyrael asked desperately Inarius.

The little angel shrieked at the tree, angrily trying to pull his hand out of the iron grip. The monster roared back something that sounded anything _but_ quailing.

\- No, it won't listen! – Inarius answered, finally freeing himself and standing firmly on the ground.

Tyrael suppressed a curse. So all those texts theorizing that the wood wraiths came from another world were right afterall. He readied his sword instead.

The wood wraith slammed one branch into the ground, and a second later rapidly growing bulbs sprung from the ground, drawing closer to the travelers.

\- Poison! – Tyrael stumbled back, but Inarius was on the case.

\- Burn! – he hissed, pointing at the bulbs and they promptly self-combusted, quickly turning into ash.

The wood wraith charged with a roar, Tyrael answered in kind. Suddenly the ground sprung up under his feet and he was sent flying at the monster's supposed head, El'druin gleaming in the light. He chopped the beast in half, just as a spear of diamond stabbed the trunk through from the side.

The wood wraith quickly went under, exploding and spewing green acidic liquid everywhere. Tyrael would have gotten quite a large splash into his face but the spray evaporated without a trace in mid-air before his eyes.

\- **You do not have a place here** – rumbled Inarius at the remains.

There it was again. That voice. Why did it remind Tyrael of the old Inarius so much?

\- Ugly tree – yet again, the little angel's next sentence was back to normal.

\- What was that? – Tyrael asked him.

\- An ugly tree.

\- No, I meant… that deep voice just now.

Inarius glanced at him then back at the wood wraith.

\- We agreed – he finally said before turning on his heels and continuing his marching back to Westmarch.

\- "We"? – Tyrael rushed after him, more confused than ever.

\- Yes.

\- Who are "we"?

\- I am.

Tyrael suddenly longed for that half-baked conversation he had had with Ytar back in the ruins.

Thankfully, they did not run into any more wood wraiths, and the otherwise dangerous Beasts and carrion bats, that tended to populate the grass fields from Westmarch to New Tristram, did not approach them. The usually territorial Beasts were actually quite tame around Inarius, they honked at him as a greeting then went back to grazing grass in peace. It was a rather odd sight, but Tyrael began to fall in rhythm with it, each strange instance reinforcing his suspicion.

The only question remaining:

How and **why** the hell did _that_ happen?!

\- How did you meet Lyndon? – Tyrael asked as they were passing a nearby Beast herd, not even sparing a glance at them.

He himself didn't know why he asked something he already knew, maybe he just wanted to break the silence.

Quiet paused for a second before continuing.

-… He promiss-d everything would be alright – he mumbled, clearly lost in thought.

\- But how did you meet him? – Tyrael pressed.

\- That's how. He promiss-d.

-… Alright. Where did that happen, then?

\- I dunno.

\- You… don't know?

\- No. There is nothing. Only Leendonn promiss-ing.

That… was not the answer the fallen angel was looking for. Yes, Inarius was clearly suffering from amnesia, but surely, he would recall that, if nothing else.

\- If I tell you… you were found in a mirror room? – Tyrael asked, carefully pushing the topic.

\- I do no like mirrors – Inarius frowned, his eyes flashing up.

-… I bet you don't – Tyrael mumbled.

There was a pause.

-… Why you ask things you know? – Inarius threw this question at him without looking.

\- I—

\- I only ask when I do no know things. From Leendonn. But not from you. You are mean.

Tyrael rolled his eyes.

\- I am sure we could get along better, if only you would stop to think and not barge into everywhere – he barked back in annoyance.

\- See? Mean.

\- I am only saying what you are doing **wrong** , Inarius!

\- And you do no care about my name.

Tyrael bit down on a curse. All he was **trying** to do was to explain to Inarius that he was going to get himself killed with this head-strong nature of his! What was there not to understand?!

\- I am telling you your flaws, because I want you to be better! – he argued further, frustration building up in him.

\- Leendonn made me better without being mean – Inarius pointed out simply.

\- Explaining something is not considered "mean".

\- You explain meanly, essholl.

\- Oh that's it! – Tyrael boomed.

He stood before Inarius, barring his way. The angel tilted his head up and his red eyes were locked with the golden irises.

\- I will **not** stand for that kind of language – the fallen angel announced in a clear, angry voice. – You will stop that kind of thing, immediately! I am only trying to **help** you, and this is how you repay me, you ungrateful seraphim?! Instead of being stubborn and foolish, you should listen and learn, Inarius!

Quiet's eyes narrowed a bit.

\- That is no my name now – he said in a dangerously low voice.

\- It is. Whether you like it or not. You may not remember, or you are just denying it, I am still not completely sure. But your name—is—Inarius! – Tyrael shouted.

Something small moved the air behind him, but before he could fully register it, the Beasts' angry roar drew his attention fully. Tyrael snapped his head in the direction of the herd not too far from them. The animals were honking and stomping in rage, all turned towards the fallen angel. Some slowly shook their horned head at him as a clear warning, they kicked and clawed at the ground, as if winding up a charge.

Inarius took a deep breath, wings standing straight up and quivering anxiously. He turned to the Beasts and raised his hand.

\- Husssssssssssh – he shushed them, his voice like the wind.

The brutes slowly calmed down, even if they looked clearly unhappy at the command. Tyrael risked looking behind himself, searching for the source of that miniscule movement, but saw nothing.

Strange.

\- You do no care about my name. Why I care about yours? – Inarius turned back to him, wings still rigid.

\- Unlike you, I do not wish to deny my identity – Tyrael glared at his companion.

\- It doesn't matter. I will no care about your name, if you do no care about mine. Essholl.

Tyrael needed a moment to stop himself from summoning El'druin into his hand again. Over five thousand goddamn years… and Inarius was still the biggest strain on his nerves out of every other possible strains.

And that included the now released Prime Evil.

Inarius pushed past him as he began walking towards Westmarch again. Tyrael took a second to compose himself, then he turned around and trudged after the little angel. He heard the Beasts snarling in his direction, as if telling him where to stick it.

This was going to be a long journey.

oooOOOooo

 _We are better than this._ _ **You**_ _are better than this._

Quiet's hands shook as he hid them in his long sleeves. He got so close… so goddamn close. Not even an inch. He hoped Teeriel couldn't see his anxiety, as he kept his eyes on the ground before him. His entire body was rigid, as if trying to restrain himself.

 _We are better than this._ _ **You**_ _are better than this._

Was he? Was he really? His wings quivered.

He almost killed Teeriel back there.

That tiny needle of blood red gem, appearing out of nothing, so so tiny. But long enough to pierce the skull and the brain, and explode inside.

Quiet shuddered.

 _We are better than this._ _ **You**_ _are better than this._

He **almost** did not see the dart. It was much tinier than the spears he used against those horrible blue ghosts. He did not register creating it, just when it launched itself at the back of Teeriel's head. It came so close to ending the bald man's life.

 **He** came so close, Quiet realized with dread. He commanded that needle, it did not appear on its own. A part of the little angel wanted Teeriel to just shut the _hell_ **_up_**! What better way to achieve that, then to make sure he could never say anything again?

 _We are better than this._ _ **You**_ _are better than this._

Quiet held onto that memory like a mantra. Leendonn's words echoed in his mind, and he grabbed onto them with fear. He tried to flee from the resurfacing memories: his old self swiftly and ruthlessly killing everyone who was mean to him, who dared to stand up to him.

Quiet wasn't Inarius, he did not want to be Inarius! Inarius was a monster!

He wanted out of this dark place!

 _That is what bad people and monster do. That is what_ _ **demons**_ _do!_

He did not feel safe.

Quiet felt tears running down on his cheeks, but he couldn't find the strength to wipe them off. His pace faltered and he stopped. He just wanted to be safe again.

Quiet sat down on the ground, curled up into a tight ball and began keening.

It was all so scary, he didn't know how to say it, how to ask for help, how to do _anything_. He just wanted Leendonn. Leendonn would understand either way.

Two arms encircled Quiet uncertainly, and lifted him from the ground. The little angel did not fight it. He wanted to trick himself into thinking that it was Leendonn.

 _We are better than this._ _ **You**_ _are better than this._

oooOOOooo

After that clash, the last thing Tyrael expected was for Inarius to suddenly stop without reason, curl up into a ball and begin crying.

The heart-wrenching sound filled the air and all around the trees and the grass rustled in kind, as if reacting to it. Tyrael stared dumbfoundedly at his companion, all kinds of alarms going off in his head.

What was he supposed to do here?!

His mind going blank, Tyrael could do nothing but stand there and watch helplessly as Inarius cried his tiny heart out. Despite their argument and the frustration it caused, right there and then the fallen angel could not picture a sadder sight than this.

Something fuzzy surfaced in his mind: back in the mansion, Inarius clearly liked to seek out Lyndon's embrace.

Moving like a robot, Tyrael bent down and gently scooped up the tiny bundle wrecked with sobs.

\- He-hey… it's okay – he stammered, awkwardly rocking the angel.

It didn't look like Inarius registered the words at all, but he also did not kick Tyrael in the chest, nor did the nearest tree dish out a backhand with its largest branch, so it **may** have been the right course of action.

\- I—I'm sorry for shouting back there, alright? – the fallen angel mumbled, clearly at a loss for proper words.

He began walking again in the direction they were heading. Westmarch could not be close enough, he thought bitterly. Not that Inarius was heavy, the little angel barely weighted anything, and most of that were the clothes. This whole situation, however…

\- I just… I just want to make sure you stay fine – Tyrael went on, still rocking his companion in an awkward way. – I am worried your stubbornness will cause you trouble, you understand? It did in the past, many times… even if you don't remember.

 _Please, just stop crying_ , he pleaded silently.

Angels were just as expressive with sounds as humans were, even if most of the time they were too proud and/or disciplined to present it. Their keening of sorrow and despair was just the saddest sound imaginable, no matter from whom it came. It weighted down the listener, it awoke all kinds feelings, it communicated all too perfectly the grief the angel was feeling.

Tyrael had no idea how to properly combat these emotions. He still had trouble with them under normal circumstances, but now? He had to blink the tears back that threatened to spill out.

\- I'm sorry, alright? – he tried again.

What caused this even? Was Tyrael really that harsh? He didn't feel like it. Stern, most certainly, he had always been like that, afterall. But actually making an angel cry just by _talking_ to them?

 _…_ _Maybe that "essholl" comment isn't that unwarranted then_ , the bitter thought popped up in Tyrael's mind.

Anu, or maybe one of Sanctuary's gods decided to show mercy to him. Inarius fell asleep from crying, nestled deep into the embrace. He clearly wasn't having a peaceful slumber, but at least his keening stopped.

After an hour or so, Westmarch finally appeared over a small hill. Tyrael had never felt happier to see a settlement before. He doubled his efforts, even though his feet were sore already.

On the familiar streets, Tyrael stormed towards the hospital like there was no tomorrow. He needed to find Sophie and receive some _semblance_ of temporary peace at least! He didn't even cared for his surroundings, the complaining pedestrians had to get out of his way.

But eventually, he did begin to see odd signs that made him walk a bit slower.

The western kingdoms, and those following the Zakarum faith tended to have angels depicted among the symbols (even if very human-like and with feathered wings), despite everything that ever happened. They were used as decoration, not just in temples, but also on houses, squares, public buildings. These days, it was probably out of habit and aesthetics, nothing more.

All these angel depictions were deliberately ruined now. The reliefs and statues had their heads broken off, their hands and wings mutilated. Literally everywhere Tyrael passed, he saw the same vandalism. What was even weirder, however, that the people didn't seem to mind at all. Westmarchers had always been picky about the appearance of their beloved city, even Malthael's reign of terror could not erase this from them. They should have been complaining to each other or to the city-guards about these ruined decorations, but none of that was present. They walked by the vandalism like it wasn't even there.

Then Tyrael saw a group of young lads gathered around an angelic statue on a smaller square to his right. They were busy further mutilating the statue, carving its eyes out and such. The nearby city guard didn't even glance into their direction. Neither did anyone else passing by. Tyrael had no idea what was going on.

When he finally reached the hospital, he couldn't even walk up to the main entrance when Sophie emerged, finishing her work for the day. There was a stunned silence as the two adults stared at each other.

\- TYRAEL! – Sophie finally shrieked, throwing herself into his neck, nearly jolting Inarius out of his sleep.

\- I—I missed you too, Sophie – stammered Tyrael, growing red, awkwardly returning the hug with one arm, while simultaneously trying not to drop the little angel.

\- Where have you been?! – Sophie glared at him as she grabbed his hand and began guiding him down a street. – I had no idea what happened! Had to go to Captain Haile to even learn that your house burnt down because you were attacked! What happened? Would it kill you if you left a note every once in a while at least?! I worried myself sick over you!

\- Sophie! Sophie, please not so loud – Tyrael tried to calm the woman down, gesturing at the fitfully sleeping Inarius.

\- Oh… How cute! Whose child is he? What's his name? – Sophie blinked at the angel as if noticing him just now, his disguise tricking her.

\- Sophie… I seriously need to explain a lot of things. Can we go to your home? – Tyrael sighed tiredly.

\- Are these important things?

\- Yes. I think yes.

\- Then shouldn't Captain Haile hear about them as well?

Oh, yeah right. Tyrael had sometimes wondered if it had been a good idea to introduce Sophie and Haile to each other, but they seemed to be getting along well, and just being familiar with each other meant Sophie was safer under the watchful eye of the captain. Even now this decision had proven to be the right one.

\- Haile! I have brought Tyrael back! – shouted Sophie as they entered the spacious living room of the soldier a couple minutes later.

\- You did?! Holy bloody shit-hell, girl, good job! Sit him down by the table, will ya?! Make sure he can't disappear again! – came the muffled reply.

\- What has happened since I was gone? It hadn't been that long – Tyrael looked at Sophie as they sat down in the dining room, Inarius still sleeping in his arms.

\- It was so weird, Tyrael – Sophie grimaced. – After your house got blown up—

\- By Kormac.

-… Yes, Haile mentioned that. I don't get it. But the firemen managed to save most of it from the fire, don't worry. Anyway, so after that, Johanna arrived, like, half-a-day later. She seemed a bit shaggy, but otherwise fine, and—

The dining hall's door slammed open, revealing a casually dressed, but not any less stern-looking Hansen Haile on the doorstep.

\- Tyrael, you'd better fucking hold onto your goddamn pants now, my boy! – he announced with angrily gleaming eyes.

\- Haile, what is going on?!

\- Johanna lost her damn mind, she did! She is calling for a rebellion against the High Heavens themselves!

* * *

 **SSsshit, man. Anyone got any goddamn idea what is going on?!**

 **And you cupcakes thought you saw Inarius' dark side for the last time back in that mansion? HÁHÁHHÁÁHÁHÁ, no. Not even close.**

 **But anyway, I was so glad to see you guys liked Chapter 29! ^^ I had been very proud of that, so it was even better to see it gets validation. To be honest, this chapter had turned out MUCH more different than I originally thought as well, and I'm rather pleased with the results.**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- Wood Wraiths: predators imitating trees, living off of others' lifeforce. They can be found all around New Tristram, so I figured they are widespread on those parts of the world. Their origin is actually not made clear in the lore: some say they are demonic in nature and origin, others simply say they are from another world and were more than likely summoned by Necromancers. Only fair to mention, that the man claiming this has a great dislike for the Priests of Rathma.

- Beasts: one of the most widespread species in all of Sanctuary, you can encounter variants of them throughout Act I, III and even V, from grazing brutes to flaming undead skeletons (Urzael a bit overdid it), these motherfuckers are pretty much everywhere. Despite their aggressive nature, they are mostly herbivores.

\- Angel depictions in Zakarum faith: this was actually **my** addition, relying on the visual style of Diablo 3 and sometimes Diablo 2. Places that were built by Zakarum believers (Leoric's Mansion, the Catacombs, the Crypts) are all filled with feather-winged angelic figures. So I figured they would be widespread in Westmarch as well, a city originally established for the reason of spreading the Zakarum religion. It is also stated that Akarat, the creator and Prophet of this belief, saw a vision about an angel named Yaerius, so it would be logical that he appears in the symbolism. Real quick about the vision: Deckard Cain believed it was an echo of Uldyssian's memory, picturing him in his moment of sacrifice at the end of the Sin War.

 **My DeviantArt Stuff**

Learning a new program = excuse to draw my favorite duo: (slash) kenyizsu (slash) art (slash) Diablo-Lyndon-And-Quiet-sketch-756822195


	31. Chapter 31

**This goddamn chapter, man...**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 31_**

Tyrael would have liked to gather up Anu, Fate, the Sanctuary gods, and every other superior being, and kindly explain to them what "semblance of temporary peace" **actually** meant.

It took every ounce of his willpower to hold onto his common sense. The urge to just scream "WHAT?!", maybe fling himself backwards on his seat because he just couldn't remain still after that bombshell, was overwhelming like the addiction he had developed for Chalad'ar around a year ago.

He wasn't proud of that bit in his life.

Still, Tyrael managed to take a few deep breaths, stop the scream in his throat, wipe off the sweat from his brow, and quickly take over the situation.

\- Alright—alright – he breathed hard. – Not alright, actually, but… before I go down this rabbit hole, please help me take care of Inarius first.

\- Who? The kid's name's Quiet, Tyrael – Haile stared at him.

\- Wait, **this** is Inarius? – Sophie looked down at the still sleeping child.

\- Just… _please_ help! – Tyrael swallowed his immediate gut-reaction to argue about the name.

Sophie quickly took the helm from there. She scooped Inarius out of Tyrael's hug (despite the archangel's protests), and carried him to the bathing room, all the while marveling at his newly revealed angelic form.

\- He's so cute! How can he be that world-destroyer you warned me about? – she cooed over the baby angel.

\- Do not let his appearance fool you – Tyrael tried to warn her, but received little attention.

Sophie scrubbed Inarius clean in the bath tub. The small angel woke up… kind of. He looked like he was trapped in a semi-sleeping state, owlishly blinking up to the nurse, but clearly not registering fully what he was seeing.

\- Nice lady – he mumbled, woozily reaching out for her.

Tyrael caught himself straining his every muscle, ready to jump and push Sophie out of the way of any danger. The woman however gently took the small hand and scrubbed it with soap, all the while smiling.

\- Hello, little one!

\- Auriel?

\- No, darling, my name is Sophia.

\- Auriel Sofffia…

Sophie looked like she would just about melt right there and then from Inarius' "cuteness". Tyrael couldn't help but grimace at that. Finishing with the little angel, the nurse ordered him to take a bath as well ("Have you **looked** at yourself?!"), while she went and tucked Inarius in bed. Granted, washing off the grime did help him feel a bit better, but Tyrael most certainly did not like how close Inarius and Sophie were physically. Although his former worries about the angel's world-destroying tendencies had been mostly dismissed by Ytar's support and half-baked explanation, this did not automatically mean any trust. Inarius could still very well be a grave danger to all around him: be it because of his still developing control over his disturbing powers, or because of his headstrong nature and talent for seeking out just the most dangerous situations possible. He could very well drag Sophie into something horrible that was caused by **his** stubbornness and…

Tyrael would rather not finish the thought, instead he donned on a new tunic and staggered back into the dining hall with a deep sigh. Haile had prepared stew for lunch (he was a surprising good cook), and the archangel gratefully dug into his bowl. Haile was busy shepherding his kids around the table and entrusting them with keeping an eye on the sleeping Inarius after the meal. Kyla and Geralt were eager to help and they quickly gobbled up the food, not even caring to stick around and check out what made the adults so rattled.

\- You should have seen Johanna, she was so awesome! That speech she made and everything – Kyla rambled with sparkling eyes. – When I grow up, I want to be just like her!

\- We will see about that – Haile mumbled under his nose, clearly displeased with this idea.

He was obviously keeping the children in the dark about something, and that did not lift Tyrael's spirit. After Sophie joined them at the table, and the kids left to no doubt literally watch over Inarius in the bed, the three adults sat and ate, Tyrael very briefly recounting their separation from Lyndon in the marsh, as well as their misadventures in Corvus. He left out Ytar and the scarabs, though. With that done, the archangel fell silent for a while, gathering every ounce of his willpower to withstand the incoming disaster.

-… Fine. I think I am as ready as I can be at this point. Tell me what is going on, please – Tyrael sighed eventually, his bowl mostly empty.

\- **Shit** is going on, that's what! – grumbled Haile, stressfully drumming on the table with his fingers.

This gesture from such a battle-hardened man, who had not been impressed in the slightest by neither Azmodan nor Malthael, was all the more alarming.

\- After your house caught on fire, maybe half a day later Johanna came to town – Sophie began in a low voice. – She had Eirena, Shen and Myriam with her.

\- Haedrig and Brycen? – Tyrael frowned in confusion.

\- We didn't see them. They just disappeared – Haile shook his head.

\- Kormac joined them in the city. She made camp in the Akarat's Glory Square, like during Malthael's attack – Sophie went on, invoking the Survivors' Enclave's former name. – Nobody knew why she came and she didn't say it at first. Then she began gathering the people, calling them from everywhere in the city. Nobles, peasants, everyone.

\- And they all came – Tyrael nodded, knowing fully well how much weight the Nephalem's words carried. She had become an icon, and even kings listened to her.

\- Of course they did – Haile snorted. – She began speaking about a new future, and how every human has the ability to change our fate and keep it under our control. That it was a unique ability no other sentient being in Creation possesses, and we should use it to its maximum potential as a result.

\- I must say it was… convincing – Sophie mumbled, biting her lower lip in worry.

\- Convincing like all hell. Then she brought up Malthael and his damned gang of Heaven-rejects, and how humanity cannot even trust **angels** anymore. "Look at the destruction these beings of _Light_ brought", she said.

\- The Reapers weren't truly angels anymore – Tyrael hissed through clenched teeth.

\- I know it. Sophie knows it. Try telling it to the rest of Westmarch.

\- Or to the entire world, for that matter – Sophie added helplessly. – All everyone saw were angels twisting their loved ones and faithful pets into horrible creatures. The Reapers themselves invoked the High Heavens at times during the massacre. How do you explain that?

 _No how_ , Tyrael thought bitterly, _and Johanna knows this as well._

\- She got the crowd all riled up, naturally. Everyone remembers, and deep down everyone wants revenge for it. They didn't even get to see the gloomy fucker's death. Can't say I do not feel the same way. That's why it was so damn hard to fight off Johanna's charm at first. I hate to admit, my boy, but I was hooked in at the beginning – Haile spat on the ground, summing up his opinion about this whole situation.

-… I cannot blame you.

\- Then she proposed we consider the High Heavens just as much of an enemy as we do the Hells – Sophie took over. – She explained how Malthael used an artifact to tear apart human souls. Angels are capable of literally anything to see us dead. She even said how antagonistic Imperius had been to her, despite her efforts to save the High Heavens along with all of Creation. She stirred up quite the hate for that archangel. But she even claimed that she saw the angels plotting against us.

\- At that time, I already knew something was very wrong, so I spoke up and asked how the hell she knows. She waved around some kind of weird mirror thing in the air, saying she can spy on the Heavens with it – Haile shook his head angrily.

\- A… mirror? – Tyrael blinked in confusion.

\- It was the most simple-looking round handmirror you can possibly imagine. Anyway, bottomline is, the people got excited and expressed their newly formed opinions about the angels… as you could no doubt see it on your way here.

\- Please tell me they don't actually plan an attack on the Heavens! – Tyrael leaned forward, voice pretty much begging.

\- No, thankfully they don't. Johanna called for everyone to "be patient" – Sophie exhaled loudly.

\- She has a plan, apparently, and she can prepare our nations for it as well –Haile finished.

-… That's even worse – Tyrael groaned, pushing the almost finished bowl away.

\- Told you to hold onto your pants, my boy. But the story doesn't end there. I was called into their camp after the gathering.

\- What did you see?!

\- Nothing good. There are no traces of Haedrig or Brycen. Shen only appeared for a second out of his tent, but I swear to Akarat, he had sheer purple eyes. It was unsettling – Haile anxiously rubbed his hands together. – Johanna was downright **maniacal** , I swear. She had that sparkle in her eyes, you know that "complete madman" kind. She asked me if she could count on me in her hour of need. I told her an attack on the High Heavens was suicidal at best, but she just frowned and shooed it away. I have no idea what has gotten into her, but she is not the Johanna we have grown to know, Tyrael. It's like an impostor almost…

\- No, it has to be Johanna. I have… seen her abilities, they are all the same they used to be – Tyrael mumbled.

\- I have no idea what is going on, but it was honestly terrifying. Johanna said "I have potential", and that she would hope to see me in the future. After that they prepared to leave for Kingsport, no doubt to stir up more hate for the Heavens – Haile's eyes darkened, clearly not looking forward to it.

\- Potential, as in as a general, or as a…? – Tyrael trailed off uncertainly.

Was Johanna… looking for developing nephalem? Haile had proven to be quite indomitable in the war against Azmodan and Malthael, he certainly had something in him.

\- I don't know, and I didn't promise anything – Haile shook his head. – I practically fled from that place, and I ain't proud of it.

\- And Myriam?

\- She wasn't there during the talk, actually. I didn't even see her. But then, when I left the camp and was busy making my way back home, Myriam pretty much ambushed me from a sidestreet and grabbed my arm so hard I thought she wanted to tear it right off!

\- She attacked you?!

\- I thought the same at first, but she just stared at me with those haunted eyes for like a minute or so. It was horrifying. She didn't react to anything I was saying to her, but she finally said a single sentence, before disappearing again. And you ain't gonna like it, Tyrael.

\- What was it? – the archangel asked, totally defeated.

Haile took a deep breath and exhaled loudly:

\- "Do not let us win."

oooOOOooo

Quiet did not see any dreams, thankfully.

He dimly registered lying in a very comfortable place, covered by another very comfortable thing. It was warm and soft and fuzzy, and it really reminded him of his first few days with Leendonn when his friend would bundle him up with a blanket.

Yeah, that was it. They were on the road with Leendonn, still going to Weztmarch. Everything had been just a bad dream: they were still together, there had been no scary man in big armor who wrecked houses, no grumpy mean Teeriel, no dark gloomy place, no cruel ghosts, no separation from his friend.

No small red needle ready to kill someone from behind.

Quiet shuddered, he pulled the comfortable warm thing closer to himself.

Except there **was** a red needle, aimed to end Teeriel. There **were** ghosts that showed him what kind of monster he had been a long long time ago. Quiet whimpered, trying to escape from the bad pictures and back into the warmth, but it was getting more and more difficult. Eventually the last vestiges of his make-believe world were torn to shreds as reality came back, knocking down the door.

He remembered willingly choosing to go on his separate way for a time, leaving Leendonn behind.

Quiet opened his eyes, vision blurry from tears. He didn't see much, but he felt too miserable for it anyway.

\- Quiet?

The little angel blinked in confusion, trying to identify the two smudges before him.

\- Yo, wake up, you sleepy head!

He definitely knew these two voices, though. Quiet willed himself to wipe the tears out of his eyes, and he finally saw the others: a human girl with red hair and a boy with blonde hair.

Oh. Jeralt and Kyla.

\- H—hi – Quiet stammered, slowly sitting up in his bed, looking around in the completely foreign room.

\- You like to sleep a lot, don't you? – Kyla grinned at him.

\- We brought you kookies – Jeralt offered a plate of strange brown disks.

-… What is "kooky"?

\- It's a yummy treat! Here, check it! – Kyla shoved one into his hands without hesitation, then she too took one and munched it down in a blink of an eye.

Quiet hesitantly follower her suit, and gently nibbled at the kooky. It was kind of dry but also sweet, which he really enjoyed. So he slowly ate it, his tired and sad mind desperately latching onto this positive feeling.

It occurred to him that he should offer a few of these to Leendonn, but he quickly recalled that Leendonn was not with him now.

Quiet felt tears welling up in his eyes again, and he let his hand clutching the remnants of the kooky fall.

\- H—hey, what is wrong, Quiet? – Jeralt stammered, placing the tray on a small table.

\- Did you have a bad dream? – Kyla asked, surprisingly gently, her usual loudness suddenly disappearing.

\- Yes – Quiet breathed, unable to talk louder.

\- What happened?

\- I—miss Leendonn. I want my friend…

\- Wait, Leendonn is not your dad? – Kyla frowned in confusion.

\- Hey, it's okay – Jeralt mumbled uncertainly, patting the angel's blanket-covered legs.

\- Did he leave you behind? – Kyla pried further.

\- No! I did! – Quiet cried out, wailing. – But I miss him! I want to be with him! But I can't because—because… I'm bad and—need to learn more and—

Once again the inability to express himself properly with words left him confused and frustrated. Quiet gave up and buried his face into his pulled up knees. He could only hear Kyla and Jeralt shuffling around, but he did not bother to look up.

At least not until he felt two pairs of arms encircling him from both sides. Jeralt and Kyla climbed onto the bed and they hugged Quiet from left and right, cuddling up to him. Quiet fell silent in surprise, but he quickly broke in the embrace and let his tears fall freely. He keened his heart out, hoping that the sound would explain everything he couldn't with mere words. The two children remained with him, Kyla mumbling things like "It's okay, it's alright" and Jeralt just patting the angel's head with one hand.

Quiet snaked each of his arms around their necks and pulled them closer. He needed this physical contact to anchor himself back to the world. Leendonn had always done the same to him.

A soft brush on his head, pulling him back into reality after an endless period of nothing, reminding him that he was still alive.

 _Everything is going to be alright_

Quiet sniffled, marveling at this new detail in his first memory in his life. It was a simple flash of something more other than Leendonn's words, but still it felt earth-shattering, world-changing. His crying grew softer, his sadness less cruel on his mind. Every fiber of his being now focused on this new memory, of that simple yet incredible touch that dragged him back to life.

Leendonn had promised everything would be alright, and Leendonn never broke his word. Quiet had to have faith in it. Everything **would** be alright. They **would** see each other again soon. Now that his friend was not around, it was up to the little angel to make sure it happened.

Quiet too would keep his word to his friend.

He sunk into the shared hug, slowly settling down in his newly found hope.

oooOOOooo

\- So… now what? – Sophie asked in a small voice.

Tyrael had no idea how to reply to that. He stared blankly at the table as his mind processed everything and connected the dots. Haile had been right, that single sentence Myriam uttered was the worst possible thing she could have said.

\- Johanna had been corrupted – Tyrael breathed finally.

He realized the numbness that suddenly flooded him was the defensive measures of his mind, shielding itself from the all-consuming panic and terror that would have almost certainly sent him over the edge.

\- Yeah… I thought the same thing too – Haile admitted in a low voice, hanging his head in defeat and crossing his arms.

\- The one who killed the Prime Evil and Death itself – Sophie bit her lower lip once again. – Are we doomed?

\- Yes. I'm sorry, girl – Haile nodded slowly. – If she decides to destroy the world, we cannot stop her.

 _…_ _But within her beats a mortal heart that one day will be tempted to corruption._

Tyrael ran his fingers across his bald head. His worst fear became reality. The single most powerful being in all of Creation, set on a dark path. Whatever her goal might have been – total destruction, domination or other – it mattered little from their stand-point.

\- So who did this to her? That Mega Evil thing? – Haile growled in helpless anger.

-… It could be Diablo, yes. Or some other horror of the Hells who remained unknown until now… Or even an angel, out of spite towards humanity. My kind is capable of hideous manipulation as well – Tyrael said after a moment of thinking, recalling Balzael and his disgusting tactics.

\- Damn _fucking_ **_hell!_** – Haile spat again. – If we are about to die one way or another, at least I would have liked to know who stabbed us in the back like that! But the coward doesn't even own up to it.

Sophie was visibly shaking at this point. Tyrael reached out awkwardly and wove his fingers around her clutched hands over the table.

\- Is there no way to stop her? – she breathed.

Tyrael was about to open his mouth, even though he himself didn't know what to say when…

\- Dad! Dad!

Kyla, Geralt and Inarius burst into the room, holding a tray full of cookies.

\- Quiet made more cookies! – Geralt gestured excitedly at the tray.

\- It's like he melted them out of thin air, it was amazing! – Kyla laughed.

Inarius sheepishly stood behind them, head slightly ducked and hands behind his back. The three kids quickly placed the food on the table, while the adults rushed to take up more carefree poses and mask their anguish. Inarius clearly picked up on it, however, and his eyes darted between the three of them.

\- Thank you so much, children – Sophie spoke first, forcing a smile on her face as she reached for a cookie.

Tyrael stared at the tray, contemplating whether or not eat something. He still felt sick from the revelation, but something kept his eyes on the cookies.

 _"_ _It's like he melted them out of thin air"_

His glance fluttered to the timid Inarius, while Geralt and Kyla rambled on about something Tyrael didn't even process fully. His mind was completely focused on another detail: the red gem in the angel's tiara.

 _"_ _I believe you already know, or at least suspect it, angel."_

\- Maybe there **is** a way – he suddenly spoke up, mind still working overtime.

\- What? – Haile stared at him, and even the kids fell silent.

\- What way? For what? – Kyla demanded impatiently.

\- I… – Tyrael stammered, resurfacing from his brainstorming.

Haile quickly got the memo and he shepherded the complaining children out of the dining hall, declaring it to be an adult matter. Inarius remained there with them, uncertainly walking up to Sophie and waving at her.

\- Hi – he said timidly. – I am Quiet.

\- I am Sophia. It is nice to meet you, Quiet. You have two very nice names – Sophie smiled earnestly at him.

-… I don't like "Inarius"…

\- Alright, my boy, whatcha got? – Haile threw himself back down onto the chair.

\- I… cannot say – Tyrael mumbled, suddenly losing his focus from doubt.

\- What?!

\- Tyrael, you had an idea, yes? – Sophie cocked her head to the side.

\- Yes, but… no, nevermind. It wouldn't work, now that I've put some thought into it – the archangel backpedaled quickly, crestfallen.

Did he **honestly** believed just now that pitting an underdeveloped angel against the Hero of Sanctuary was a good idea?! _Really_?! Truth to be told, desperation had made him come up with rather stupid and/or suicidal plans in the past (just look at his fall, or the big heist of the Black Soulstone for that matter), but Tyrael really hoped he'd be over these tendencies by now.

\- I thought I had it… Not even close. I apologize – he sighed deeply, clearly humbled.

\- Oh well – Sophie said softly, still cuddling Inarius on her lap.

\- Sssshit. I thought you would be able to give us some hope, boy – Haile massaged his forehead. – Now what?

\- I—don't know – Tyrael shook his head in defeat.

\- I need to go to that grassy place – Inarius suddenly spoke up in a low voice.

\- Inarius, that is not that important – Tyrael waved tiredly.

\- But it is! I need to go!

\- Stop it! We have bigger problems now! – the archangel snapped, slamming his fist on the table.

\- Tyrael, leave him out of this! – Sophie boomed at him.

The fallen angel stared at Sophie in disbelief then his eyes shifted to Inarius and they were filled with murderous rage. He got up and stormed out of the room, somehow ending up on the stairs before the house's entrance. With an exhausted and angry sigh he sat down on one step hard and rested his forehead on his pulled up knees, hands covering the back of his head.

After a while the entrance door creaked and out stepped Sophie, sitting down next to him with pulled up knees also.

\- Tyrael… I'm sorry for shouting – she said gently. – I understand you are tense right now, we all are. But Quiet did not deserve that outburst.

\- You don't know him, Sophie. I do – Tyrael raised his head with a loud sigh.

\- Do you really? You told me he was a monster bent on Sanctuary's destruction. Then you show up on the doorstep with him in your arms.

Tyrael paused for a second.

\- I admit he's not here with malevolent intents. I have received confirmation about that. But he still has his old flaws, the very things that constantly landed him in terrible danger in the past…

\- And led to Sanctuary's creation in the end? – Sophie interrupted.

-… Yes. I reckon they did – Tyrael scratched his head.

It was true. Without Inarius' stubbornness and strange worldview, none of this would have come to life. Not Sanctuary, not the nephalem.

Not Sophie.

\- Tell me, Tyrael. You clearly knew Inarius well in the past – the woman went on, slowly weaving her fingers around Tyrael's. – Did you have a strained relationship back then?

\- That is putting it mildly, to be honest.

\- So… did that work on him?

-… Pardon?

\- Did this shouting, these outbursts work on him back then? Did he change for the better? Or did he double down on them, just to deny you? – Sophie asked, clearly already knowing the answer.

-… He just kept going. It may have been the reason behind Sanctuary – Tyrael mumbled, recalling every annoying trick, habit and action Inarius had pulled just to set him on edge.

\- Maybe. But do you see it? It did not work in the past, it will not work now. All you are doing is turning him against you. He will do the exact opposite of what you demand of him, simply out of spite. That is the true danger here.

\- But how can I keep him out of trouble, Sophie?! If I **don't** say anything, his own flaws will lead him to danger, and if I **do** , he will willingly jump headfirst into it! What am I to do here? He's impossible! – Tyrael cried in frustration, angrily punching the tiles under him with his free hand.

Sophie took a deep breath, pressing her side to the fallen angel's to calm him down.

\- You said just now his caretaker was Lyndon? – she turned to him.

\- Yes.

\- Well… he clearly did something right then, kept Inarius under control easily. Which means that Inarius is **not** impossible… he just needs the right attitude. Without Lyndon, you can only guess and try things out, but the answer has to be out there.

Tyrael remained silent, thinking.

\- I know you are worried about Inarius in a way and you are trying to mend his flaws so he wouldn't be in danger that much. But you are making things worse with this tone. You need to change it somehow, look for a different approach, otherwise you will be just much of a cause of the next disaster as his flaws will be.

\- I… reckon I understand what you are saying – Tyrael sighed in defeat. – But I do not know how to do it. In my immortal life, I was barely feeling, and even later I had never become a people-person, so to speak. It wasn't my duty, Auriel would handle those.

\- You never had a girlfriend before, either, yet look at you – Sophie smiled at him, warmly pecking him on the cheek. – You are doing rather fine, I'd say.

Tyrael could feel his face heating up at this gesture, and he instinctively leaned to Sophie slightly, just to get closer to her.

\- What I am trying to say is that you won't be able to achieve anything without trying – Sophie went on. – Sure, the first few times it won't work out well. You will need to stop yourself from slipping back into your usual shouting then. But you will get the hang of it eventually. Surely, Lyndon didn't have it smooth either the first time around.

\- He never told me about that.

\- I am certain he had his own problems. But he had time and opportunity for trial and error. Until you are reunited with him, your task is very much the same.

\- By Anu, you almost sound like… someone I met recently – Tyrael chuckled at the last sentence.

He could almost picture Ytar going " **well, she** ** _is_** **right, you know** ".

\- That someone must have been most wise – Sophie smirked with humor.

Tyrael exhaled loudly, finally relaxing his tensed body a bit:

\- Alright… I'll try to find a different approach. We have a long road ahead of us, after all.

Sophie nodded, and together they finally retreated into the house. In the dining hall, Haile was busy teaching Inarius about how to properly hold that black dagger ("Not like that sly fox scoundrel, small one!") and some extra tricky slashes and stabs. The little angel was clearly very uncomfortable, especially when Haile used his own body to use as an example, but he listened intensely.

Tyrael leaned against the table tiredly.

\- Alright, Inarius – he finally said. – Let us set out on the road.

* * *

 **Ugh, it was one of those "hard delivery" cases, you cupcakes know the ones. I'd have had the time for it, while waiting for commissions on DA and on Tumblr, but for the life of me I couldn't quite nail it down. Thankfully that is over, and the next chapter will be smoother and more action-packed, hopefully. Such downtimes are needed occasionally, though. :) Tell me what you think, because I am honestly not sure about the quality with this one. It was such a hard fight to put it together...**

 **Thank you, cupcakes for your unbreakable patience! You guys rock! Bonus points of rocking for all who can guess what that "weird mirror" is. ^^**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- Tyrael's addiction to Chalad'ar: in the book _Storm of Light_ , Tyrael at first is afraid to fully embrace his new aspect, Wisdom, and start using Chalad'ar to look for answers. When he begins using it, at first the Chalice works with him, it shows important truths and hints and what needs to be done. But later it would start to overwhelm Tyrael and acts as a drug, making the fallen angel temporarily forget his worries and entire surroundings, making him black out for longer and longer as time goes on. It's... pretty disturbing, actually.

\- Brycen: Brycen is the not-too bright but honest, hard-working and good-natured boy who can be rescued during almost the very beginning of RoS storyline. Haedrig tells you he heard strange noises from the cellar and you rescue Brycen from the undead there as a result. Later he latches onto Haedrig in gratitude, and while he causes some trouble, he means to help him. Haedrig tries to push him away at first, but eventually warms up to the boy and finally accepts him as his new apprentice.

\- "But within her...": this sentence is from the ending cinematic of RoS where Tyrael narrates the end of Malthael and the rise of the Nephalem.

 **Guest review replies**

 **- Guest (who wrote for Ch1): **Thank you for your support ^^ Who knows, perhaps they might end up in the High Heavens eventually. ;) It wouldn't be all that surprising, considering the madness that can end up happening in Diablo.

 **DeviantArt stuff**

\- **Valorous Charge:** -deviantart -.- com-(slash)-kenyizsu-(slash)-art-(slash)-Diablo-Valorous-Charge-757328106


	32. Chapter 32

**_Chapter 32_**

Flying letters were the new superweapon. Good to know.

It took Malthael an abysmally long time to heal Lyndon (throughout which the bored scoundrel grabbed every opportunity to annoy the angel), but eventually the human was able to get up once again and walk around without too much trouble. The water problem was quickly solved by the scarabs: a bunch of them brought a stone bowl of crystal clear water whenever it was needed. Where they go the bowl and the water from remained a mystery, but so far no harm came from drinking it so Lyndon trusted the source.

Still, it was in his best interest that he left Corvus as soon as possible. Lyndon and Malthael set out with their strange honor guard to do just that, the angel still refusing to get lost. They wandered aimlessly among the identical corridors, having no idea where they truly were at this point. As far as they knew, they could have been under Westmarch, or dozens of kilometers away from it. Lyndon's food supply was slowly dwindling, and to that the scarabs could not offer a solution: down here nothing really lived that the scoundrel could have eaten. All the more reason they needed to get out of here.

Of course Malthael was far from giving up on his goal in the meantime. That, and he probably wanted to get payback as well for the scoundrel's antics.

 _\- You and Rea are the reason us angels are above physical love._

Lyndon's eyes flashed green at the angel at this.

 _\- Useless, wasteful, and ends in tragedy. You slaughtered your one true love, demonspawn._

\- You do not understand the first thing about anything, Death – Lyndon spat. – I am not surprised you have no clue what you are talking about.

 _\- Yet I see your grief and self-blame._

\- So what?!

 _\- You are responsible for what had happened to her and to Kingsport. You are a_ _ **monster**_ _._

Lyndon spun around on his heels, pointing his charged dagger at the angel.

\- You want to talk about being a monster, _Death_?! – he thundered with blazing eyes. – You who slaughtered more innocent than any other demon, you who caused the fall of your own p—

Roars filled the ruins around them, drowning out Lyndon's shouts with ease.

The two unwanted companions whipped their heads around and took up fighting stances. Lyndon quickly sheathed his dagger and pulled out his crossbow ready to fire, while the king scarab swarmed before them in a defensive way and ordered its kin with a loud shriek to close the two in a circle. The roars of Flesh Gorgers came closer and closer but there were other sounds as well: painful screeches and whines, and a strange drumming sound like a really _really_ violent hail battering the ruins at an unnatural speed.

Before Lyndon and Malthael, their corridor ran into a different one that was perpendicular to their own. The Flesh Gorgers finally showed up from the left branch of it… and they were clearly fleeing from something. At first, it looked like dark smudgy shapes flew at them, barely smaller than a man's head. These shapes acted mostly like stones, flying in a straight line and glancing off the monsters' bodies, before disappearing in mid-air like they weren't even there. As the mob was forced backwards by this weird hail-thing, the corridor was filled more and more with the dark shapes.

Finally, one glanced off in an angle that Lyndon could make it out better in the dim blue light, before it disintegrated.

It was a B.

The scoundrel shook his head in disbelief, rubbing his eyes with one free hand and staring back at the phenomenon. Those dark "rocks" that battered the Flesh Gorgers were **letters**. All of them.

\- A—Am I hallucinating? – Lyndon gawked, unable to make sense of what he was seeing.

Maybe that water the scarabs constantly brought him wasn't that clean after all…

\- BEGONE, FOUL BEASTS! FALL BEFORE MY AUTHORSHIP! – came a screeching battlecry from the left branch of the corridor, no doubt the origin of the letter-hail.

The Flesh Gorgers, beaten and bruised, honked in alarm but a few of them tried to lunge forward at their mysterious attacker. Suddenly the battering stopped and instead a deep rumble erupted from the left. The next second, even the attacking monsters turned on their heels and began running, but they couldn't get far: a tornado of blazing orange wind, books and papers crashed into them and dragged them and all of their kin along. It swooped by, crashing Golems against the walls and instantly killing them, or accidentally flung themselves through the holes and into the abysses that dotted this part of Corvus. After a minute or so, the incredible tornado died down, leaving behind nothing but rubble, a few monster corpses and a very cheerful, still mysterious voice.

\- Yes! I am victorious once again!

Lyndon had heard this voice before but for the life of him, he couldn't place it.

Steps sounded and from around the corner the man finally appeared. He was dressed in a pine-green tunic, a short brown cape draped around his shoulders and a single leather guard was strapped onto his left shoulder. He had a big bag by his side, full of provisions and literally tons of quills sticking out in every conceivable angle. The weirdest part was below the belt: on the tunic and the darker green robe coming from under it, there were books. Dozens of small, barely palm-sized books were hooked into the fabric via small golden rings, giving the impression of a very ineffectively armored skirt almost.

Lyndon finally stared into the face of the man, and after a moment of squinting in the semi-darkness, he cried out:

\- Abd?! Abd al-Hazir?

The scholar grinned widely under his respectable mustache and beard and opened his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. He was not even remotely bothered by the angry scarabs hissing at him as a warning.

\- Well, if it isn't Lyndon the scoundrel! It's been ages since Sescheron!

\- Since when are you a mage?

\- Me? Oh no no, my friend! I am no mage! I am an Archivist!

oooOOOooo

Despite the change in appearance, Abd al-Hazir really didn't change in personality. He was still the overly-talkative, friendly (if a bit condescending at times) and adventurous scribe from Caldeum who once travelled all over Sanctuary and noted down its cultures, people and animals into thick tomes.

He was a legend among scholars, but it appears he took it a step further, still.

\- Abd, seriously, what has happened? – Lyndon asked, sitting by the small fire.

al-Hazir had insisted that he regaled them as much as the circumstances allowed and he quickly whipped up a nice little camp where everyone gathered. The scarabs thankfully realized that the man was no threat and they retreated to some meters away, clearly not liking the amount of attention they were receiving from him.

\- Just a moment, friend! – al-Hazir called back, hunching over the softly hissing king scarab.

He pulled off one of the small books from his tunic which immediately grow into a normal sized tome and he began writing into it with great vigor.

\- Amazing, truly! I have never seen a General before! – he exclaimed mostly to himself, sketching down the overgrown insect and taking notes. – It is truly as big as the records say. What a beauty!

\- That thing is called a "General"? – Lyndon looked at the king scarab who only chattered in response.

\- Historians have dubbed these beasts as such. They are capable of leading large numbers of small scarabs as you can see, hence the name – al-Hazir explained in a hurry. – Fascinating! I have never seen such docile behavior from them before!

\- Yes, uhm, they are… protecting us.

\- You bewitched them?

\- Not me, but… someone simply asked them to do so, I guess.

\- Amazing!

\- Uhm, Abd, you really haven't answered my question…

\- I am sorry, Lyndon! You know me, I am a man of knowledge and accountability, truly! – al-Hazir sat down next to them by the fire, finishing his quick notes. – Who is your silent friend by the way?

Malthael sat some distance away from them, arms and legs crossed, invisible gaze mostly kept on the ground. To this question his hood rise a little, but Lyndon was faster:

\- Oh this is Deadweight, my… companion.

The hood slightly turned in his direction and Lyndon could almost feel the murderous gaze on his skin.

\- **_Malthael_** – the angel rumbled deeply.

\- Synonym for "useless", these days – Lyndon nodded, barely being able to keep the cocky grin off of his face.

Malthael only grumbled something that was probably yet another native curse.

\- Interesting man, he is – Abd nodded, eyes already scanning the angel with the intent of taking notes.

\- He is an angel, actually.

\- Truly? Oh my, that explains the darkness in the hood! I thought my eyes tricked me in this darkness.

\- Yes well, he is stuck on me and I need to find a way to get rid of him – Lyndon sighed.

 _\- Not before you kill me, demonspawn._

\- See? – the scoundrel nodded towards al-Hazir, but the man was already taking notes into his book.

The speed at which he grabbed a book and started writing was astonishing.

\- An angel with suicidal tendencies. Most interesting, coming from an immortal being, truly – he mumbled under his mustache.

 _\- You understand nothing, other demonspawn._

\- Unfriendly, too.

\- Of course he is – Lyndon sighed.

\- Do you know how he ended up here?

\- I—no, we just met in here – the scoundrel said quickly, silencing Malthael with a blazing glance.

\- Most interesting – al-Hazir nodded briefly before closing his journal and focusing back on the camp. – I am sorry, where are my manners!

He quickly shared his food, fresh fruits and well-done steak, with Lyndon whose mouth began watering just by looking at them.

\- I have a lot to tell you, Lyndon – Abd smiled at him as they started eating. – After you and your friends rescued me from Sescheron, I was most inspired by your heroism, to put it frankly.

\- I remember it – Lyndon nodded. – Johanna dragged me into discovering the ruins of Sescheron and we found you in the hands of Khazra. I am glad to see you are doing well.

\- More than well, my friend! After our ways parted, I felt like something has awakened in me as well, no doubt because of seeing you fight so valiantly in that snowy wasteland! I have written down that adventure while on the road and eventually I felt I needed to seek out something or someone who could help me realize my new goal.

\- Which is?

\- To be more than just a scholar and to help people, either through my writings or by other means.

 _\- Fool. Your kind are not capable of such acts, only out of selfish gain –_ Malthael chimed in, venom dripping from his voice.

\- You clearly do not know our kind then, my friend – al-Hazir pointed out, not even remotely bothered by the comment.

\- Ignore him. Like I've said, he is useless – Lyndon frowned at the angel.

 ** _\- I healed your back, demonspawn._**

\- Yes, at the pace of a pregnant snail, no less.

Abd al-Hazir chuckled at the comment, before continuing:

\- My luck was great one day: I ran into a peculiar man not too far from Westmarch. He was an Archivist, and to my request he took me to their headquarters in the city: the Great Library.

\- What are Archivists? I have never heard of them before – Lyndon blinked in confusion.

\- I am not surprised, my friend. Archivists work in silence and dedication. We are scholars who put our quills and words into serving humanity, quite literally. We are the guardians of knowledge and history and we do all we can to preserve them for future generations who may benefit from them the most.

Malthael twitched and slightly raised his hood at this, but remained silent otherwise.

\- So… you are scholars with magic? – Lyndon asked.

\- Yes, in the most basic terms that is correct – Abd grinned. – Our power comes from our knowledge, experience and tools for our authorships. Before me joining them, the Archivists had fended off the Reaper invasion in Westmarch, keeping the Library safe and untouched. Unfortunately, in the process they were cut off from the rest of the city and couldn't help more. So yes, we do have magic, and we can fight if we must to protect knowledge, truly.

\- So those flying letters…?

\- Ah you saw my Letter Cannon and the Lorenado then. Those are just two from my arsenal – al-Hazir said, placing another small book on the ground.

The codex suddenly grew so big it was around the size of a man and thick as a younger tree's trunk.

\- This book here is filled to the brim with stories and anecdotes of bravery, defiance and resistance. When I order it, it opens up and begins to shoot the letters out one by one, until either it runs out or I order it to stop. Right now it is recharging slowly. Those Flesh Golems were a sturdy bunch, truly.

\- And the tornado?

\- The Lorenado! It uses stories of war, conflicts and storms to power itself. Handy power to clear out large groups of enemies fast. It is very devastating, and what's even better, it does **not** damage anything or anyone else I do not recognize as an enemy. Therefore it can be used even in places where there are sensitive books. No harm will come to them.

\- I have never heard of such magic before – Lyndon laughed, taking a large bite out of his steak.

\- Me neither, not before the Archivists took me in and taught me their ways – al-Hazir said. – They have read many of my works and thought it an honor to have me among their numbers. Our order is small, we are present only in a handful of bigger cities. It requires specific mindset and skills to be an Archivist, not everyone is cut out for it. Which is why I am extra grateful for the gods that I am able to take up the mantle as well. Truly, I am honored to be a part of this noble cause.

\- _Spawns of Hell like you care for knowledge? Hm_ – Malthael suddenly spoke up.

\- Oh we do, like you wouldn't believe, friend – Abd nodded with great vigor. – There are many people out there, even non-Archivists who are ready to die in service of protecting and regaining long lost tomes and writings. Without them, how would our people know where we came from and where we are headed?

\- Dying for books may not sound so heroic, but I can understand the reasons – Lyndon chuckled softly, finishing his meal. – Cain would have been a great addition to your order.

\- The honor would have been ours – al-Hazir said solemnly. – He was a legend and a true paragon of history and learning.

\- He was… I knew him briefly, but he left a great impression even on me. I have bigger respect for scholars since then.

\- His loss was the loss of all of Sanctuary. Many Archivists look up to him as a role model and patron of sorts, even. We follow his example in many cases – Abd sighed deeply before shaking himself. – But such grief is enough now. Tell me, Lyndon, what has happened to you since we last met?

The scoundrel felt his mood plummet at the question and it took him a great effort to stop it from showing.

\- Oh… I just lived my life of thievery and overindulgence, naturally. I mostly left the heroic life behind, but Johanna occasionally, ah, _persuaded_ me for one more adventure. Sescheron was one such thing. But not much has happened to me since then that is worth telling.

He could feel Malthael's gaze on the back of his head, and prayed silently that the angel did not spill the beans.

\- What are you doing here, then? This isn't exactly the best pub or brothel of Sanctuary – al-Hazir frowned in confusion.

\- I had a… an accident with one of the Waypoints. I ended up here against my will.

\- You can use them? Their proper function was lost to the ages.

\- I have learnt to use it by Johanna's side.

\- Ah, I see. It is a good thing we met then. I can show you the way out of here.

\- That would be great! – Lyndon signed in relief. – Thank you, Abd.

\- Don't mention it, truly!

\- You are down here for research purposes?

\- Yes, actually – al-Hazir nodded. – I planned on staying a day or two, not going far from the entrance. So far, the most interesting things I have found were those damnable Golems I have read about in dark magic books, and the General over here. And you of course.

\- Where are we exactly, can you tell? – Lyndon looked around.

\- Beyond the Blood Marsh, thankfully. My entrance is just a mile or so away from here.

Lyndon exhaled loudly. They finally found a way out, thank the gods!

\- Eat and rest – Abd smiled at him. – We can leave after that.

oooOOOooo

Since his fall, Malthael did not feel much of anything.

In order to save himself from drowning in despair and rage, he forcefully shut it all out of his mind, leaving him with nothing else. He didn't care where exactly he was on Sanctuary, he didn't care how much time had passed since the Arch's rejection. He feared that if he opened himself up to these questions and started pondering on them, he would have let in every vile emotion as well, which he wasn't prepared for.

It was safer not to feel anything instead.

Then the demonspawn came crashing down on him out of nowhere, almost knocking Malthael out of his stupor. It even turned out the demonspawn was a nephalem, and one of the abominations who finally brought him down just before the finish line of his victory.

Malthael saw his chance.

Only this stubborn spawn of _Hell_ did not oblige and play along like he was **supposed** to! What else would Malthael have had to do back there?! Use his non-existent powers to provoke a true fight?! He was left with nothing, but he had hoped that the mere gesture would be enough to get the nephalem to kill him. Unfortunately, demonspawns are volatile and unpredictable in nature, thus even this one backed down from an easy fight and kill, because Malthael did not deserve "the easy way out".

Who was he to decide that?! What rights did a little nothing like this mortal, who had the life spawn of **maggots** , hold over him?!

Malthael needed to somehow fend off his newfound rage at this thought, and keep everything at bay. So, as he decided to follow the demonspawn and somehow force him into attacking, he tried to find something to draw his attention to.

And found the turmoil inside the human's mind.

These inner storms were just another reason why he fully believed humanity needed to be eradicated: such unstable beings should not hold great power at all. But this one time, Malthael was almost happy for it. It meant a tool, a weapon to turn against his foe and goad him into a murderous rage. It was so easy to read among the memories and the angel quickly turned his focus on the ones that mattered most: filled with anger, despair and fear, these constantly gnawed at the demonspawn's mind, even if he did not want to acknowledge it.

Malthael used these doubts, constantly unearthing more and more of them, dark little secrets that were perfect for the job. And he _almost_ reached his goal when he laced one such doubt with a bit of falsehood, just to make it more emphasized. But the demonspawn regained his control a second too soon and began his counterattack with comments that made Malthael almost lose control over his own mental dam against his emotions.

He would not lose to a mortal!

This silent dueling went back and forth. The demonspawn had a sharp tongue but Malthael had endless patience on his side. It looked like his foe would finally snap, but then the other mortal just **had** to show up on the scene.

Except…

This demonspawn was different in a way.

Malthael had long since decided that there was no variety among humanity. Every single last one of them was half-demon, thus needed to be eradicated. No exceptions, no "buts" because then they would just repopulate again and bring their blight forth. He held fast to this belief… no, this _fact_ , no matter what happened.

But this demonspawn with the strange powers and the many writings… The way he talked about his "mission", his calling in life and how valiantly he pursued and protected knowledge throughout all hardships and dangers…

It awoke something in Malthael.

\- _Spawns of Hell like you care for knowledge? Hm._

The angel quickly clamped down on this outburst and huddled himself up, forcefully shutting out the rest of the conversation.

 _Do not let anything in. Leave the door ajar and all shall burst forth._

Yet as much as the angel struggled, as much as he wished to close himself off again and return to the blessed embrace of the void in his soul, he felt something spread in him. With a slight shock, he realized what it was.

Inquiry.

…

This scholar had to go. Or die.

 ** _Now._**

* * *

 **Ooooh boyyyy, I have been waiting for this moment! This moment of glory when the one true Archivist enters the battlefield finally! You have no idea how long this plan has been in the making, cupcakes. ;) If you are interested in the reasons to my excitement and decision, check out the Lore & Trivia Corner.**

 **Soon I must embark on a pretty shitstormy end of August, with trips, birthdays and school starting so I wanted to get at least one more chapter out and get the action slowly starting up again, before disappearing into the mountains of Austria. If there are any mistakes, it is because I rushed a bit to upload it. Feel free to tell me where I've fucked up!**

 **I may even get a job during the semester, which means even less free time than usual. Not sure what this shall mean to this fic, but fear not, cupcakes, for I shall not abandon it! Silence may stretch out for long, but it shall not be the end! I refuse to leave this awesome project behind, especially with an audience like you.**

 **Love you all and take care!**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- Abd al-Hazir: a noble scholar from Caldeum who travelled all around the world and recorded almost anything and everything. He is mostly known for his bestiary in-game, through which he provides info about monsters and the occasional humor as well. This guy is a goddamn legend in my eyes, around the level of Captain Hansen Haile even. He gives me, a lore-maniac, what I crave the most, and he was the EXACT THING Diablo2 lacked the most… outside of everything else regarding story-telling, but whatever… ANYWAY, in Adventure Mode, in the Ruins of Sescheron there is an event where you can actually rescue al-Hazir and he follows you around for a while, commenting on things.

\- Sescheron: one of the few large forts the Barbarians ever built in their history, it was meant to be the first line of defense against anything threatening Mount Arreat and the Worldstone. However, it was overrun pretty goddamn quickly by Baal and his armies in D2's expansion. The fort you see in the (pretty shitty but still the highlight of that game) opening cinematic is actually Sescheron, not Harrogath where the rest of the game is set after that. In D3, You can even find the bridge with the blood stain remaining from that one herald.

\- Archivist: and now for the big one. This will be a long ride, so strap in!

The Archivist was Blizzard's April Fools announcement in 2009, a "new" class coming to Diablo 3. According to them: " _The Archivists are an order based in Westmarch. These brave souls wade into battle wielding tome and quill, armored not in ensorcelled plate or links of chain, but in the knowledge of generations past. These archivists fight not only for the future of humanity, but for mankind's past as well."_ They even had a short clip from the developing game, showcasing three abilities: the Lorenado, the Quest Bolt and the Shush. You can imagine my face and the fangirl-scream I emitted when I saw that one of Deckard Cain's Ults in HoTS is the legendary Lorenado itself.

To me, the Archivist is the biggest potential among the classes and it is my (pretty unreasonable) hope that D4 will feature it for real. I was so inspired by their idea, that all I needed was a minute, and I came up with their abilities (which will be shown in the fic later on), and decided that only one man is worthy enough to be an Archivist in my fic: Abd "Truly" al-Hazir. The man who recorded anything and everything, survived beasts that can very well kill you on higher difficulties, and had a jolly old time doing it all the while. Nobody is more fitted for this role. While I do not plan on him to become part of the main cast, he may very well be a recurring character and one who shall stay with us for a short while now. ;) I hope you cupcakes will like him as much as I do.

Here's hoping the Archivist will return one glorious day, for real this time! Because nothing says "badass" than killing the Prime Evil and Death with **books**. This is the _true_ power of Wisdom, Malthael, suck it!


	33. Chapter 33

**_Chapter 33_**

Teleportation hated Lyndon. It was turning out to be a fact at this point.

After the wonderful meal with Abd al-Hazir, the Archivist placed a smaller book with a strange half-orange-ish, half-blue-ish cover on the ground.

\- Let us sleep for a bit – he offered with a half-smile. – After that, we will leave Corvus through my Portalfolio.

\- Your what? – Lyndon stared at the book.

\- It is yet another greatly useful trick in our arsenal. You'll see – al-Hazir waved as he made himself comfortable in his sleeping bag.

Lyndon glanced at Malthael but the angel did not even twitch from his closed-off pose and ducked head. With the shrug, the scoundrel lied down as well and drifted into a light sleep soon.

A dreamless night was not his due now. Right off the bat, Lyndon had to duck and roll away from a large shape swinging at him.

\- WHY YOU?! WHY NOT ME?! – a deep voice roared.

Lyndon thought he saw a strange throne room, with a giant shape towering behind a wide throne occupied by a suit of armor. A giant shape that lunged at him again. The scoundrel jumped back but the ground turned into a stack of papers which he fell through, ending up in a tight dark corridor on his back.

For a brief second, Lyndon saw Quiet crawling through the tight space, the black dagger gleaming in his little hand, his red eyes shone with determination. Lyndon wanted to call out but he blinked and the scene changed.

He was still lying on his back, but now he was in a strangely familiar corridor with dim blue lights, and he was staring at a tall thin shape towering over the sleeping al-Hazir like a vulture. Softly glowing hands slipped out of the long featureless sleeves, fingers curled like talons, ready to break the Archivist's neck with a single twist.

Lyndon lunged forward without thinking.

His brain only later registered that he was no longer sleeping.

With all of his might, the scoundrel crashed into Malthael and knocked him aside. The angel fell onto the ground with a soft grunt, but quickly rolled to the right, dragging Lyndon with him.

\- What are you doing, you idiot! – the man shouted, trying to pin his opponent down.

His abnormal strength awoke and rushed to his aid, but it could not save him from the knee he got into his stomach, flinging him to the left. Lyndon kept his hold on the long coat, his back pressing against something uneven and hard. He hissed in pain but readied himself to drag Malthael with him, before the angel could get up.

That strange thing behind him attached itself onto his back with a sucking sound. Lyndon suddenly felt like he was losing the solidity of his body, even though the whole process was painless. He turned around in surprise as best as he could, and he caught a glimpse of what looked like the corner of a smaller book.

The magic activated and spread to Lyndon, and through him, to Malthael. The two of them seemingly warped and twisted and got sucked into the pages.

The last thing Lyndon heard before he sunk into the letters was the alarmed shout of Abd al-Hazir, being jolted out of his sleep and only now realizing what was going on.

The next second he and Malthael were flying across a desolate plain inhabited by letters. It only lasted for a moment, though, and suddenly Lyndon was normal size and shape again, flying slightly upwards then falling back and crashing into snow with a curse. Considering from the sounds, Malthael had a similar fate.

Cold flooded his body and Lyndon jumped to his feet with a screech, hands flying to sweep off the snow from his coat. It got into his collar, his belt and his boots, and the stinging wind did not help matters. Bundling himself up as best as he could, he looked around, beholding an endless pine forest of snow, ice and pretty much nothing else.

\- What the **fuck**?! – Lyndon shouted, his coat barely helping anything against the terrible cold.

\- **_Witless demonspawn!_** – Malthael hissed, clearly not bothered by the weather as he pushed himself up from the ground as well. – _Always meddling. That is_ _ **all**_ _you are good for!_

\- What the hell is wrong with you, seriously?! – Lyndon whipped his head at the angel. – Hazir did nothing wrong to you! Yet you just try to kill him in the middle of the night, you backstabbing freak!?

\- _It is the middle of the day._

Lyndon unsheathed his dagger and charged it with his power, pointing it at Malthael.

\- One more of this… – he hissed with venom.

\- _And what? You shall kill me?_ – came the almost mocking reply.

Lyndon realized he might have to comply with this bastard's wishes afterall, just to keep everyone else safe around him. He glared at his unwanted companion but the angel did not twitch.

Suddenly, the scoundrel sneezed loudly, doubling over and almost dropping his weapon. The sound echoed among the trees, carried far away by the wind.

A deep roar answered it.

\- Aw fucking hell – Lyndon sniffled, wiping his nose into his sleeve.

Malthael was staring behind the scoundrel for a few seconds.

\- _Run_ – he suggested then.

Lyndon turned around, trying to follow the angel's invisible gaze. He thought he saw something huge and wide lumbering towards them in the distance, its silhouette barely visible against the snowy haze of the wind.

The scoundrel did not wish to wait and find out what that thing was, he began running in the ankle-deep snow in the opposite direction, leaving behind the small orange-blue book they just fell out of, hanging in a net from a tree branch. Malthael followed him without a word. The two of them darted among trees, dodging branches, fallen trunks and stones, as more and more creatures roared around them, announcing their deep interest in the new guests.

Lyndon had no idea where exactly they were, only that it must have been the Dreadlands. The characteristically dense pine forest, packed full of beasts, was a clear indication of that.

Just the most perfect place to land without any winter clothing or equipment. With a stab of fear, Lyndon realized his backpack and crossbow all remained in Corvus. All he had was that barely useful dagger, some blinding powder, his three good luck tokens (why weren't they working now?!), his trusty flint and firesteel and that strange coin Luther had left for him weeks ago.

\- Again?! – he shouted helplessly at the loss of his shiny beautiful crossbow.

Daring Fate to try and separate them had **not** been a good idea.

It looked like the beasts of the forest had little to eat these days, because their silhouettes –wolves, giant bear-like monstrosities and snow bugs– refused to leave from the corner of Lyndon's eye.

\- _Your world is the_ _ **worst**_ _, demonspawn_ – Malthael grumbled, not being nearly as urgent or terrified as he should have been.

\- Don't you fucking start on me now!

\- _It is but a fact._

\- I said shut up!

\- _Lashing out at the harsh truth won't make it go away_ – Malthael echoed the scoundrel's words back to him with an almost noticeable glee in his bland voice.

Pursuing beasts or not, Lyndon seriously considered stopping and just burying Malthael alive for that comment alone. It would have been worth it from a certain standpoint.

Instead, he chose his own life and kept on running. That is, until he tripped on some stone hidden beneath the snow and fell face first into the solid ground, rolling down a smaller hill and bruising himself on rocks. With a painful smack, that cut his stream of curses short, his back collided with a strangely cubic-shaped stone, his head in the snow and legs dangling in the air.

Cracking one eye open, Lyndon hissed at the dull pain in his body, but thankfully this time he could move on his own. With a painful groan he slowly stood back up, squinting through the snow. Malthael was descending on the slope he rolled down on, the beasts – a wolf pack and a giant white Yeti – just behind him. Lyndon staggered, looking for an escape. His eyes caught a fissure-like opening in a cliff not far from him.

\- That way! – he shouted to Malthael and darted for the cave.

Nearing it, the cliff turned out to be a wall made out of just the most enormous slabs of stone. The fissure had opened up by the weather battering it, but it was wide enough for Lyndon and Malthael to throw themselves inside. The pursuing animals stopped, barking and roaring in helplessly anger but they refused to draw closer to the opening.

Lyndon scuttled up onto a smaller pile of rocks against the wall and let out a shaky breath, his body shivering violently. Even Malthael looked a bit rattled, his simple coat ravaged by the forest and covered in powdered snow.

\- _As I have said. Your world is just the_ _ **worst**_ _._

Lyndon gulped down the air, not really finding the strength to argue about that right there and then.

oooOOOooo

Sescheron.

Of all the places in Sanctuary they could have ended up in, it had to be the ruins of the barbarian stronghold, Sescheron.

\- You guys are okay with this?! – Lyndon hissed, glancing at the ceiling, his words aimed at the gods of Sanctuary.

If they heard him, they sure as hell did not show it. The scoundrel figured it was difficult to talk when they were no doubt stuffing their mouths with roasted seeds and honey-covered bread, enjoying the show they were receiving.

\- Life is unfair – Lyndon grumbled.

\- _I have experienced that as well._

\- Shut up! You deserved that rejection and you damn well know it!

\- _Your insistence to claim that you understand anything at all is almost amusing, demonspawn._

Lyndon had thought that Sescheron had been bad during his first visit here, by Johanna's side. He had to realize that this current visit, equipped with literally nothing but a worthless pain-in-the-ass angel **far** outdid that one.

The fortress did not change since last time. It was still cold as an ice cave, full of dust, ruins, skeletons of the old defenders, blown out candles and still very much active and working traps. It had kept the vile aura as well, which scared the normal beasts away, and which had belonged to Baal once, Lyndon assumed. This of course meant that monsters touched by demonic influence were drawn here.

\- I hate this place – Lyndon shuddered, slightly drawing deeper into the bowels of the fortress.

He sneezed again as he walked slowly, the hated feeling of sickness creeping in his throat and lungs.

\- Just perfect – he sniffled. – Now what?!

\- _You could kill me, then die silently here_ – Malthael suggested behind him.

\- Yeah, forget it.

\- _It is clearly a resting place for demonspawns like you._

\- It was a fortress. It stood and fell against Baal twenty years ago, to protect Mount Arreat.

\- _Quite futile for your kind to deny the Lord of Destruction._

\- We denied Azmodan with a rundown fortress and we won in the end – Lyndon spat in his direction.

 _\- In time for the Prime Evil to be born out of your wretched species._

\- The Prime Evil which you let loose upon Creation once again, including _your own people_ , you mean?!

This finally silenced Malthael. The angel ducked his head, falling behind slightly, allowing Lyndon an opportunity to think things through.

At least, as much as he could do with his slightly buzzing mind.

However the hell the Portalfolio worked, it somehow got activated during their scuffle and it transported them to Sescheron. Now Lyndon was stuck here alone (Malthael did not count), with literally nothing to keep him safe or warm here. He would have to teleport a long distance to get away from here… which no doubt would result in his fainting for at least a day, if that last time with the sea battle was any indication.

Well… leaving Malthael in this godforsaken place didn't sound all that bad of an idea. There was nothing and no one here he could endanger in any way. Then again… it was a bit of an open place, and the fallen angel could just walk out of here like nobody's business. Unlike humans, he wasn't bothered by the cold, and simple beasts were clearly no match for his angelic strength.

Lyndon was torn over what to do, and he quickly realized he felt far too tired to decide, or to even think about teleportation. The buzzing in his head steadily rose, and his body was violently shivering.

 _I have a fever, don't I_ , Lyndon thought weakly, not even possessing the strength to get worked up by it.

He stumbled out of the tight hidden corridor into some kind of huge dining hall, with wrecked tables and chairs all around. The ceiling had a hole in it, snow drifted inside peacefully. In one of its end, just before the main entrance, a bladed pendulum was swinging about lazily. Left right left right left right…

Lyndon stumbled as the ground began to slide out from under him and he had to regain his footing.

\- I need to take a break – he mumbled to himself.

\- _You just slept, sloth_ – Malthael retorted, trudging behind him like a very unwanted hound.

\- Screw you, I need to sleep more than you do!

 _\- You will freeze to death._

\- Why do you care?!

Malthael only glared at him, and it took a couple of seconds for Lyndon's sluggish brain to come up with the answer.

\- Heh – he snorted with glee then. – Wouldn't that just suck for you? You're lucky I want to stay alive, so I can find Quiet again.

 _\- Your_ _ **obsession**_ _with the abomination is unhealthy._

\- So was yours with human souls. At least my "addiction" doesn't cost the lives of thousands.

 _\- Only those in that manor._

Lyndon stopped, staring forward emptily.

The guards, slaughtered like pigs, because he hadn't seen the signs.

\- I fucking hate you – he hissed between his teeth finally, still staring before himself.

 _\- Mutual._

Lyndon took another step… and the ground promptly slipped out from under his feet. Whether it was a spot of ice or his numbing mind, hard to tell, but he fell forward, barely being able to grab a table's edge for support. Splinters sank into his skin and he snorted in pain, but couldn't move his strained leg effectively. Malthael dragged him up, cursing in angelic again.

\- **_Stop_** – he boomed.

\- I need to sleep – Lyndon mumbled, exhaustion rapidly conquering him.

 _\- Do_ _ **not**_ _sleep!_

\- 'm sleeping – the scoundrel managed to announce before his head lulled and his eyes closed.

oooOOOooo

Choosing this witless nephalem as his personal executioner was probably the worst decision he has ever made in his immortal life.

Malthael was beginning to suspect that he would have been much _much_ better off with staying in the underground ruins for a good millennia or so, without moving a single muscle. Or perhaps actually let those blood red beasts kill him. _Anything_ , but hauling around this mortal, who was apparently absolutely **incapable** of surviving, so that Malthael _might_ get the chance of pushing him past his snapping point.

As the angel dragged this useless baggage of flesh around, trying to find a spot to lay him down, he thought about simply leaving the demonspawn behind and set out in the world. Surely he would find another nephalem somewhere! Someone who would be capable of actually killing him and sending his soul back to the Arch.

… Would he?

Malthael grunted as he set the sleeping human down onto a torn rug on the ground, before a fireplace that still held a few logs in it. Thinking back to his peak, outside of Westmarch his forces hadn't really encountered much resistance in Sanctuary. A few nephalem heroes surfaced, including the nigh-useless group that "stole" the Black Soulstone from the Heavens, but that had been mostly it. It was clear that despite the twenty years since the Worldstone's shocking destruction, humanity found its roots abysmally slowly.

The odds of Malthael running into an actual nephalem who knew what he was, what the angel did, and possessed the strength to kill him was very low. He cursed his fate, as he realized that he had to stay with the demonspawn. This idiot had a personal connection to Malthael, a possible emotional motive to finally end it. He had to exploit that!

Resigning to his lot in life, Malthael tore off a wall-carpet nearby and covered the demonspawn with it, partially bundling him up. Just out of habit, he read the now hazy and sick mind, and found a most interesting detail that surfaced just now.

The demonspawn had a **brother**. A brother who had been caught and ultimately killed because of a grave mistake. And the demonspawn blamed himself for it.

Malthael felt excitement filling him. Yes, this was it! This seething self-loathing, guilt and despair was the perfect mixture! With this he would push this damnable nephalem past the snapping point, all he had to do was force him to come face to face with it and—

 ** _"_** ** _The Black Soulstone must remain in the High Heavens, Balzael."_**

Malthael froze.

 ** _"_** ** _Let its blight spread and cover everything. It shall force my siblings to act finally."_**

 _"_ _What of its lingering effects?"_

 ** _"_** ** _Irrelevant. Let it work. Let my siblings fall under its sway."_**

Malthael violently struck this memory away from himself.

Irrelevant.

 _Irrelevant!_ It mattered not! Why did it even appear in the first place?! Malthael did not ask for it!

 ** _"_** ** _It's too slow."_**

Stop.

 ** _"_** ** _Tyrael had been cast out of the Council but the others still_** **refuse** ** _to act. It needs more time."_**

Stop!

 ** _"_** ** _Useless…_** **all** ** _of them! Slow, indecisive, worthless… There has to be a more effective way…"_**

Malthael's fist crashed into the wall before him, leaving a crater in the stone, and a throbbing pain in his hand. He withdrew his limb with a labored breath, the soreness temporarily driving the unwanted thoughts away.

Numbly, he let go of the demonspawn's memory of his brother.

To busy himself, he turned to the fireplace. Perhaps a bit of heat would help this idiotic human survive. Malthael reached out over the logs, willing them to burst out in flames.

Nothing happened. He tried again, focusing harder. Weak sparks sputtered from his fingers but no result. Sharp rage burst into his chest and he forcefully grabbed the logs. Magic finally surfaced in him and it raced into the pieces of wood.

… Covering them in a thin layer of frost.

Malthael jerked his hands away, battling to keep his fury down. He would achieve nothing with raging. He needed fire and he needed that damnable thing now!

Recalling how the demonspawn had made camp with that scholar in the ruins, the angel pulled the wall-rug aside and searched the many pockets in the coat. He found three useless items, a small golden dime that had a demon's profile on it, a weird bag with some kind of powder in it, and finally the flint and firesteel. Then he walked up to one of the ruined tables and quickly broke it into pieces. Throwing away the now frozen logs, he filled the fireplace with the table parts instead, and after a couple of tries, he had managed to start a small fire. Finally, he nudged the useless demonspawn closer to the heat, then wandered off, looking for something in this forsaken place to kill some time with.

Avoiding the pendulum from a safe distance, Malthael began to scour the hall out of boredom. He skimmed through all manners of trash heaps, broken furniture, useless weapons, frozen skeletons of the dead. Everyone seemed to have died fighting some kind of menace, perhaps Baal's wretched minions. The many dark spots, remnants of demonic blood pools were a great testament to this.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except for…

Malthael stared at the golden plate on the nearby table. It was covered in blood, yes, but rather fresh, barely dried blood. As he finally paid attention and stared at the floor, he saw wide human footprints in the thick layer of dust and snow, and a few droplets of blood following the track.

Someone was still living here.

Well… _hells_.

Malthael grumbled, cursing every living being and wishing that may the Arch give them a malformed body upon their next rebirth (he also recognized that it was a completely pointless curse here on Sanctuary). Stomping back to the deeply sleeping demonspawn, he reached down and shook the mortal by the shoulders.

\- _Wake up_ – he rumbled.

Of course the idiot only mumbled something and turned his head in the other direction, forehead shimmering with sweat.

\- _Wake up, spawn of Hell!_

Mumbling again. This would get him nowhere.

Just as Malthael was about to simply grab and haul the demonspawn onto his shoulders and just drag him along, a strange sound reached his ears. Snapping to attention, Malthael immediately placed himself before the sleeping demonspawn, eyes darting to the hole in the ceiling. It almost sounded like a book being unnaturally rapidly flipped through, pages turning at a hair-rising speed.

Wait… a _book_?

From the ceiling's opening, the strangest shape descended: a man, dangling from a short chain with a handle, which was attached to a book that was open and rapidly flipping its pages, a shimmering word occasionally breaking free and floating away.

\- _Demonspawn_ – Malthael huffed, taking up a less threatening stance.

\- Oh, thank goodness I have found you two! – Abd al-Hazir exclaimed happily, dangling from his book with all the grace of a coconut.

The strange device eventually descended and the demonspawn landed on the cold floor, taking his tome and shrinking it again onto his clothing. He had his own bag by his side, as well as the nephalem's backpack on his shoulders.

\- It was a challenge to figure out where the Portalfolio had sent you two! – he explained rapidly, rushing there. – I had to use another one, because this one was overheated, then I had to use my Flutter Tome to fly above the area and scan it. I was beginning to worry it would run out of words and I'd be forced to—

\- _The spawn of Hell is sick. Heal him_ – Malthael interrupted, frustrated.

\- Wha—? What spawn, where? – the witless man stared up at him blankly.

\- _This spawn!_ – Malthael hissed, pointing forcefully at the mortal behind him. – _Heal him!_

\- Oh dear! – the scholar demonspawn jumped there, crouching down. – His name is Lyndon, you know.

 _\- Irrelevant._

\- I am sure names are important even for angels.

 ** _\- Heal him, damn you!_**

\- Okay, okay, okay! Dear gods, you are a grumpy one.

Why did he have to end up with these brainless mortals, Malthael asked bitterly. At least the scholar demonspawn finally got to work. The angel withdrew a little. His healing magic was for physical injuries and angelic sicknesses. Mortal ailments were outside his expertise. The best he could do was keep watch and—

Notice the dark, humanoid shapes beyond the hall's door, drawing closer and brandishing weapons.

\- _We need to fight_ – Malthael announced in a grave tone.

The scholar demonspawn turned around, staring at the shape as well.

\- I was afraid they would show up – he breathed nervously, fingers dancing among his many small books.

\- _Demons?_

\- Worse. The Unclean.

Three muscular men burst into the hall with ear-splitting battlecries.

* * *

 **You** ** _don't_** **fuck with brotherly memories. You just don't.**

 **I seriously need to get my ass to finish Act V and rush into Sescheron for research purposes. Been a good while since I last set foot into that kickass place.**

 **And, just to show how little of an impact Diablo 2 had left, I actually thought that Sescheron (the fortress you see in the cinematic) and Harrogath (the fortress you start out in) are the same place. I literally needed to read through five goddamn pages of Diablo Wiki to get this shit straight in my head. It's ridiculous, this "story telling"…**

 **Forward, cupcakes! Let's have some kickass Archivist action!**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- YES, THE PORTALFOLIO IS ORANGE-BLUE, YOU READ THAT CORRECTLY AND YOU CANNOT STOP ME! You think I would leave out the OBVIOUS thing when it comes to portals? Ha! Never!

\- Flutter Tome is once again an ability I have come up with for Archivists. No canonical roots, whatsoever.


	34. Chapter 34

**_Chapter 34_**

In Malthael's long carrier of fighting, no one had **ever** started off with throwing a book at the enemy. Until today.

The small tome sailed across the air in a beautiful arc, suddenly turning into ten times its size and crashing against one of the surprised attackers. The female Unclean went under a record-sized novel. Before Malthael could properly react to this unique opening move, the scholar demonspawn (Vazir, was it?) thrusted one of his many quills into his hands.

\- Here! It will block attacks! – the mortal (let's just call him Vazir) shouted.

Malthael stared at his "gift" as they dived to the side from the two charging enemies. It was a bird feather, and a simple one at that: the plume white, its end deep brown. How in the hells it was supposed to block attacks, the angel could not fathom, but he had no time to ponder any longer.

\- Behind me! – Vazir shouted, conjuring up another giant book and stood it up.

As the two of them dived behind it, the Letter Cannon began its deadly barrage, crashing another, bearded Unclean against a nearby pillar. The third attacker, a burly bald man evaded the straight-line projectiles and flanked the book, double curved short swords aimed at the hiders. Malthael and Vazir were forced to jump back from the wide swings. The Unclean hacked open the Letter Cannon's spine, causing the book to fall forward with a pitiful whining sound and disintegrate.

\- _Your magic is weak, demonspawn_ – Malthael frowned at the loss.

\- I am still practicing, alright?!

Malthael swooped forward and punched with all his might, hitting the left shoulder guard of the madman. He felt a spark of satisfaction at the sound of the arm popping out of its socket, but then a short sword sank into his left side and a knee embedded itself into his stomach. He flew backwards with a short pathetic screech and crashed hard into a table which collapsed under him. The Unclean let out a hyena-like laugh and with a single hand jerked his shoulder right back into its place. Vazir quickly threw a smaller book against the attacker, shouting and doing everything he can to draw the attention to himself.

Malthael struggled on the table wreck, trying to get up. The dull throbbing in his stomach teamed up with the stabbing pain in his side. His core was thankfully unscratched, but that didn't lessen the agony on its own. He turned to his side, trying to push himself up that way. He had swooped into battle, foolishly believing he still had his former might and speed, and gotten a powerful reminder in his face for it.

Why was he even trying to fight, though? Why not just let these spawns of Hell kill him? They clearly had the strength.

A screaming Unclean appeared in his line of vision, the very one who got taken out by the enormous book at the beginning. She towered over the angel, plunging a broken spear downwards. Malthael raised the quill he didn't realize he was still holding.

A metallic _clang_ filled the air, and for a second the air froze around them.

Malthael stared and stared above himself, but couldn't decide which was stranger: the fact that the feather _stopped_ the spearhead, or the fact that he didn't even _feel_ the collision.

Luckily, the angel recovered faster than his opponent and he struck out, knocking the legs out of from under her. Pain and suicidal plans forgotten, Malthael stood up at an astounding speed, grabbing the dropped broken spear. The female Unclean was still on the ground when the angel stabbed it into her heart.

With one enemy down, Malthael took a brief moment to grab a rag off of the corpse and bandage his bleeding side with it. He then looked over at the Vazir demonspawn, who was practically fleeing from his opponents across the hall.

-… And you know I have always detested violence in my life but I now realize that it is a necessary part of life. You two remind me of those mercs my former rival sent against me once, I said former because he got eaten by three Dune Threshers in the end without my involvement of course—

Malthael frowned at the terrible coping mechanism of the mortal.

He stared at the scene for a long second, then brandished his broken spear, rushed forward and jumped on the back of the Unclean with the double swords. While the angel had almost insignificant weight, he did have momentum. The Unclean, however, reacted by rolling over his head, knocking Malthael off of him before the angel could do anything. He skidded a few meters on the snowy floor, and only with the help of Vazir did he manage to get up in time. The two Unclean laughed at him, which rekindled the spark of rage in Malthael.

\- I—I—I'm just saying I'm not that much of a warrior – Vazir stammered, fumbling among his many books. – M—mindless beasts, sure, but actual humans—

\- _These are beasts_ – Malthael hissed, pushing and shoving Vazir along, as they retreated from the Unclean.

The only reason those two hadn't jumped yet, was because the angel tried to keep the tables and every other wreckage between them. All the while they drew closer to the lazily swinging bladed pendulum.

\- Well, their behavior is very animalistic I agree but technically they are still human so—so—yeah – Vazir mumbled, allowing Malthael to drag him along.

Of course the scholar wasn't a true warrior. What was he expecting?!

 _"_ _But… how can we eradicate them if we cannot fight?"_

 ** _"_** ** _You will be given tools… powers."_**

 _"_ _Shall we able to use them?"_

 ** _"_** ** _Yes. They will be a part of you, Kasadya. You and your sisters shall be the_** _ **Death Maidens."**_

Malthael snapped out of the uncalled-for memory at the scream of Vazir. Something knocked him onto the ground and when he looked up, he saw the demonspawn standing over him with his back turned to him. The mortal held his quill above his head, contesting a broadsword that was no doubt aimed at Malthael a second ago.

The angel regained his senses and flung the broken spear at the advancing Unclean. It embedded itself in the leg of the bearded madman who howled and quickly yanked it out. Still, it had been enough to slightly cripple him. Malthael kicked out with both legs, forcing the Unclean to jump back and allow Vazir some breathing room. As the angel dragged himself up from the ground, the scholar shielded him with his body, quill ready for defense.

\- Mighty Pen, you see—blocks all kinds of physical blows no matter the strength or the speed – he sputtered anxiously. – Very useful yes but cannot be used to attack.

\- _Imperfect, your magic is_ – Malthael grumbled.

\- Yes well Archivists aren't truly spellcasters, we work with different tools and can't really throw fireballs left and right and—

\- **_Focus!_**

\- We must defeat them, you are right!

Malthael was silently grateful these Unclean were mostly mindless. A more cunning enemy would have long used the demonspawn's horrible coping mechanism to get relevant information, plans, weakspots, _anything_ , out of him. The angel's back bumped into a long discarded weapon rack and a rusty curved punyal fell off of it. It was a miserable little thing but Malthael grabbed it nonetheless in his retreat.

Suddenly someone grabbed his arm and he almost slashed with the dagger in that direction. Vazir's eyes shone brightly with uncharacteristic anger and determination, his panic finally ending.

\- We need to get behind them – he said, voice barely over a whisper this time.

Malthael glanced behind them and saw just how close the bladed pendulum was. Understanding flashed through him, and he nodded without a word.

With a battle cry, Vazir opened his big bag. From it, a storm of papers and parchments burst forward like angry birds, assaulting the surprised Unclean. Diving to both sides, the two unlikely companions split up. The scholar demonspawn ran to the right as fast as he could, jumping over chairs. The bearded Unclean, battling with a couple of berserk notes flung his broadsword at him, but the mortal threw himself onto the ground and skidded on his belly, straight under a still standing table. Using that as a temporary cover he forged on.

Malthael was not so lucky. Once again he was painfully reminded just how much of a **nothing** was left from his former battle-prowess and agility. He grabbed the weapon rack form before and threw the entire thing against the bald Unclean, but of course missed him completely. Despite the assaulting papers, the spawn of Hell actually had the galls to laugh at his attempt. In his rage, Malthael stopped and pointed at the madman, channeling his powers.

A smaller icy explosion erupted from the tip of his finger, not even getting close to the Unclean. Instead, it sent Malthael staggering backwards and covered everything in ice, which quickly resulted in the angel falling over and smacking into the tiles. The Unclean laughed louder at this then, shrugging off the papers, lunged forward, curved swords held high. From the right, a giant tome sailed into the picture, knocking the attacker aside. Malthael seized his chance, pushed aside his rage and self-reprimand and ran for it, zig-zagging and slipping across the pillars.

He and Vazir met up on the other side, quickly turning towards their foes.

\- Having trouble with magic? – Vazir asked hurriedly over his shoulder as he yanked off one of the small tomes from his tunic.

 _\- None of your_ _ **business**_ _, demonspawn._

\- It's okay I remember the first time I tried to get a Flutter Tome working it was like a few months ago, I ended up almost crashing into the ceiling at high speed and—

 ** _\- The tome!_**

\- Alright alright alright!

Vazir began rapidly chanting as he opened the book, the words too quick to make sense of. The bald Unclean kicked the tome off of him and charged, while the bearded one retreated his broadsword and did the same.

With his last sentences, Vazir threw the open book before his feet. It grew into an enormous size, glowed with orange light. The next second, violent wind erupted from it filled with smaller books and parchments, and the entire spell barreled towards the Unclean. It swept them off of their feet and dragged them along, straight at the pendulum.

The plan had been to have the Lorenado throw the two madmen into the way of the wicked blade.

The plan did **not** involve the Lorenado ripping out the pendulum from the ceiling and sucking it in as well. Malthael and Vazir watched in horror, as the giant blade began its maddened horizontal spinning. While its sheer size and weight had been enough to kill the Unclean, cutting them in two with its chains still within the twister, now it became something even worse.

Losing his sudden confidence, Vazir grew roots to his spot. Malthael grabbed him and threw him behind a wider pillar before following suit. As usual, the Lorenado in its dying moments detonated, instead of slowly winding down, and shot the titanic pendulum in a random direction.

Malthael's head resonated for a long minute, his entire mind filled with the sound. Eventually he had managed to sense other things as well. They were still behind the pillar, still alive. On the other side, the blade embedded itself halfway into the stone, its wings still vibrating from the collision. Vazir sat next to him on the ground, eyes wide and staring forward.

\- That was… amazing – the mortal breathed out.

 _\- I disagree._

oooOOOooo

Somehow, Lyndon had slept through **all** of that commotion.

After a brief catch of breath, which Vazir wasted on shouting and screeching and babbling about how afraid and absolutely "stoked" he had been, the scholar finally got to healing the scoundrel's sickness. Malthael drew some meters away, tired and spent and really not having the patience to tolerate the noisy human. He was slowly sealing his own injury on his side, sprawled out on top of a longer table and staring blankly at the ceiling.

He would have **died** back there, due to those unwanted memories and lackluster fighting reflexes, but the scholar demonspawn saved his life, twice even. Thrice, counting the gifted quill the angel still had stuck in his black coat. Malthael thought for a moment. Wasn't it his mission to get killed so he may return to the Arch?

So then… why was he completely fine with being still alive?

…

He wanted Lyndon to kill him. Yes, that was it.

Malthael refused to dwell more on this question.

To distract himself, he reached out with his mind. The nephalem demonspawn's brain was fuzzy and hazy, useless to look around in (and after that encounter with the older brother's memory, the angel did not wish to venture back inside just yet).

The scholar's mind was still working overtime due to the adrenaline, full of excitement and pride that he could stand his ground against human enemies as well. It had been his first real fight, after all. So much story to write from this one encounter. For starters, he can, at least slightly, add to what little records are there about the Unclean. Then, he can write about how he survived and fought and saved an angel's life! That was so neat, working together with a seraphim like that! Although Hazir (oh… it was Hazir, not Vazir) thought angels should have been faster and more agile, and maybe not blow themselves up with their own magic—

Malthael angrily pushed past those rambling thoughts. He wasn't sure why he had hoped that the mortal's mind would be any different than his behavior.

He went deeper instead, looking for anything that may peak his interest in any way. He saw memories, a million of them showing the brave, unending pursuit of knowledge even when it led to such dangerous places as boggit dens, scavenger caves, caverns inhabited by carnivorous giant worms, bats and other nightmares. Hazir had traveled all over Sanctuary, writing about its animals, its people and history, more often than not barely escaping with his life, but always forging ahead with great conviction. This thirst for knowledge showed in his childhood as well when Hazir was willing to crawl through the sewers and end up in the Dahlgur Oasis, just to follow and observe a pair of colorful lizards.

Watching it, Malthael felt another one of his own memories trying to come forward from the confinement he had locked everything away in. With some reluctance he allowed it.

It was an ancient one, from the beginning of his long life. He had been alone back then, but that had not deterred him in any way. Burning curiosity drove him forward, he discovered every nook and crack along the length of the great Crystal Arch and the strange world it was slowly forming around itself. After that, he slipped into another plane and discovered the future Pandemonium. The Battlefield of Eternity, now a grey worthless wasteland, had looked rather different before the Eternal Conflict. While it had still been mostly grey, chaotic, floaty and had desolate parts, it had also been teeming with life. Strange, fluorescent plants and trees had inhabited it, forming patches of light among the hovering cliffs. More peaceful herbivore creatures had roamed the land, most of them not even bothering with the Archangel as he had passed through the land, observing everything intently. The variety within this place had completely mesmerized him, he may have spent a century wandering here.

Time hadn't been really well-measured back then.

One day, he came across something different that clearly had no place in this world, yet was deeply embedded into the ground and completely run over by life. It was a blood red gem in the shape of frozen flames, with an inner blaze of its own, and a size that dwarfed everything around it. The soft hum with what it sang beckoned the hypnotized Malthael forth who marveled at this relic. The animals, predators and preys alike, slightly parted ways before him, completely tame and peaceful. The angel could freely approach the gem and touch it with shivering hands. The second he made contact with it, he knew what it was.

 _The Eye of Anu_. A part of the great god who had created this Universe, the same way the Crystal Arch was another shard of it. Yet, this gem seemed even older somehow.

 _Before the split…_ Before Tathamet came to be. The Eye of Anu had connections to that state, while the Crystal Arch was purely of the god who had cast out the darkness from itself. Interesting.

Malthael reached out with his mind, carefully prodding and feeling around. There was so much to learn about this stone! Why was it covered in life? What was its power? Was it a creator like the Arch?

But the gem was reluctant to share its secrets, as if it was fighting back, ever so slightly parrying the angel's attempts at discovery. Malthael withdrew eventually, hidden eyes still held captive by the sheer majesty of this stone. He vowed he would return here to continue his work.

And he did. Many, many times. Before and during the Eternal Conflict as well. The war had forced him to step up his research and start using the gem. Flimsy as his attempts may have been, it became clear what the Eye was: a creator power, perhaps even more powerful than the Arch itself. There seemed to be no limit to what it could conjure up, from mere objects to entire **worlds** , new battlegrounds for the Conflict.

And when it was suddenly gone, it left a void inside Malthael who had felt like he was beginning to share a bond with the relic. But it was gone and for over two eons, they could not find it. And even when they did, it was kept away from him by an infuriating deal made with Mephisto.

And then, the Eye of Anu was destroyed. Completely, and without a trace. Its final shockwave swept across the entirety of Creation. It almost made Malthael crush Chalad'ar between his hands in his desperate rage.

With a grunt, the angel tore himself away from the memory. It was enough.

He sat up to the edge of the table, his side finally sealed. As sour as the end of that memory had been, it was still… strange to feel again the long lost thrill of discovery, the inner goading to just **know** things, whether it was relevant or not. All those peaceful creatures in Pandemonium had died out during the early years of the Eternal Conflict and only the most vicious, most horrible beasts remained. Yet, Malthael could still picture those four- or six-legged herbivores with perfect clarity, their existence living on in him.

It was a useless information. It did not provide any advantages over an enemy, or ideas and inspiration for a new spell or weapon. It gave nothing.

… Only maybe that small joy that he **knew** of them, before their disappearance.

Malthael stared before himself blankly for long.

\- _What is this place?_ – he finally spoke up.

\- Hm? – Hazir turned to him from his seat next to Lyndon, his hands mixing together some sort of concoction.

\- _This place. What is it?_

\- It's uh… it's a fort.

 ** _\- I know that._**

\- Then what—?

\- _Why was it built? What is the history?_ – Malthael grumbled, annoyed by the slowness of the mortal.

Hazir's eyes lit up to this, his happiness palpable in his voice.

\- Oh well, you see, it all started a long long time ago. According to some texts, Bul-Kathos, the, _uh,_ god of the Barbarians had given them the task to guard the sacred Mount Arreat and a relic called the "Worldstone" within it, so the Barbarians set out to—

And Malthael leant forward and listened.

* * *

 **The feeling when you realize at your third version of a lame fight scene, that maybe a nerdy scholar wouldn't be all that Rambo-like in a fight, even if he got some training recently.**

 **Cupcakes, you have no idea how hard it was to put that goddamn brawl together in the beginning. Even a strange fixation on the storyline of Act III (which is not even CLOSE to arriving) got in the way. Considering the speed at which I finished the chapter after getting through that, it is clear to me what I am best at. But hey, TFS is great for such practices!**

 **As of this week, I will begin a half-time job next to my University, therefore my free time will probably take a nose dive. While I have yet to experience this setup to say for sure, I am GUESSING it's going to mean slower updates in all of my work, but mostly in TFS. Maybe. We shall see.**

 **Fear not, I am not planning to abandon this story. You know the drill: keep calm and channel Auriel's hope!**

 **Thank you, cupcakes, for your continued support! I love you all!**

 **But no, srsly, I need to iron out that shitstorm of an Act III because it is way too much…**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- The Unclean: a small group of Barbarians who went mad after Mount Arreat's self-destruction. They became crazed cannibals who attacked everyone and everything on sight. Some sane Barbarians feel it their mission to hunt these monsters down and end the shame they had brought to their people. Still, the Unclean persist to this day, and they even have an Elder as their leader.

\- Mighty Pen: once again, it is an Archivist ability purely of my making. It is based on the saying "the pen is mightier than the sword". It is a defensive item, absolutely useless for offense, or against magical attacks.

\- Kasadya: one of the few Death Maidens given a name in the game. She was the very first of her kind you saw when you entered Westmarch, witnessing the slaughter of a group of fleeing innocents.

\- Pre-Conflict Pandemonium: my addition, but I personally refuse to believe that Pandemonium had always been that worthless unforgiving wasteland, especially with the Worldstone chilling out there for god knows how long. No, there HAD to be something there! Not much, sure, but definitely more than what we can see in Act V.


	35. Chapter 35

**_Chapter 35_**

\- This cannot be normal!

\- _I agree, but it_ _ **is**_ _rather entertaining to watch._

\- This isn't funny, Malthael! What if he's dying! I don't recognize this type of illness!

This wasn't the most pleasant thing to wake up to, in all honesty.

\- Would'y guys just shut up for a second? – Lyndon mumbled, frowning deeply.

He did not bother to open his eyes, and most of his brain was still very much asleep. He was lying on something, covered by something heavy. Outside of the two grating voices, which cut through the darkness like obnoxiously sharp knives, not much reached his mind at the moment.

Except that strange foreboding sense that told him to _hide_. Something or someone was watching him, and Lyndon had to disappear from that sight, he knew.

\- He talked! Oh thank goodness! Lyndon? Lyndon, can you hear me?!

\- _Of course he can hear you, scholar._

\- I said _shaddup_ , Malthy – Lyndon grumbled, the name coming back to him in a flash.

\- _That is_ _ **not**_ _my name, spawn of hell._

\- He hears us then. That's a good sign… I think. I hope.

Wait, was that… Abd al-Hazir? Didn't they leave him in Corvus, when they got sent over to Sescheron? Yes, that did happen, with that weird book, because Lyndon had tried to protect Hazir from—

Eyes fluttering open, Lyndon stared right at the scholar and the angel leaning over him. He then lunged forward and pinned Malthael to the ground, one hand squeezing the throat, the other yanking out the dagger from his belt and striking downwards with it. Malthael barely had the time to grab his wrist and stop the weapon an inch away from his face.

\- You worthless bastard, you! Stay the **fuck** away from Hazir, you hear me?! Your business is with me alone! – the scoundrel bellowed angrily, green eyes blazing.

He wanted nothing more than to end that miserable freak's life right there and then, but the angel's abnormal strength could compete with his own. Someone suddenly grabbed his coat and tried to drag him off of Malthael.

\- Stop! Stop, both of you! – Hazir shouted, clinging to Lyndon.

\- He tried to kill you in your sleep! – the scoundrel snarled at him.

\- _Get off me, you imbecile!_ – Malthael tried to free his neck with his free hand.

\- It is alright, he helped me kill three Unclean that tried to ambush us – Hazir explained so fast the words were almost unintelligible. – It was my first time facing human foes, truly, and I would have died, had it not been for him! Although he did blow himself up with his own magic, I admit.

Lyndon stared dumbfounded at the nervous Abd for a good second or two.

\- _You just cannot let that one go, can you, scholar_ – Malthael mumbled under his nose, clearly giving up.

The scoundrel couldn't help the hysterical laughter that erupted from his chest as he pictured the described scene. His grip slacked and he stood up, staggering back onto his makeshift bed of multiple carpets and rags piled on top of each other, from where he launched himself a moment ago. His laughter died off fast and finally his brain could catch up with what was going on around him.

His hands shook, his head hurt, he was famished, his throat parched and tasting like some kind of sour medicine, and just _nothing_ made sense. They were in Sescheron, Hazir was here with them for some reason, the swinging pendulum was gone, and why were his hands black with the occasional white lines running across them?

In fact, his entire clothing was of the same pattern, now that he looked at himself.

\- You… you change color. Is that normal? – Hazir asked gently, stabilizing him in his seat.

\- Y—yeah. Weird – was all Lyndon could muster, as the last vestiges of his sudden power vanished from him and his eyes turned back to brown.

\- Oh thank goodness! I thought it was some kind of curse or illness when you mimicked the rug's patterns! – the Archivist sighed in relief, rushing to offer some water and food for him.

The scoundrel accepted everything gratefully, and downed the water in a single swing. His coloring returned to normal almost immediately.

\- We've tried to give you as much water as possible during your fever, but you swallowed very little of it – Hazir explained worriedly, cutting up the beef jerky to small bits with his pocket knife. – You have been out for over a day, I was so worried about you!

\- A… day?

\- _You sleep like a sloth, demonspawn_ – Malthael spat venomously, standing up from the ground. – _I saved your worthless hide and you dare attack me!_

\- You… tried to—break Hazir's neck in his sleep – Lyndon forced it out of himself, glaring daggers at the angel.

\- _Irrelevant._

\- We have spent this last day pretty well, to be honest – Abd shrugged helplessly, clearly not knowing what to make of the situation. – We talked about all kinds of topics, history, biology, architecture—

\- Wha—what? – Lyndon blinked at him owlishly, trying to connect the dots and failing.

\- Well, after we killed the three Unclean, we didn't really have much to do, and Malthael started asking about the history of Sescheron and the Barbarians, so I—

\- Hazir… please, start from the beginning, alright? – Lyndon frowned, giving up.

It was quite strange, how well-structured and easy-to-follow Abd's writing was, and how incoherent his oral ramblings could be, as if the two things had no connection to each other whatsoever.

The Archivist took a deep breath, clearly forcing himself to slow down, and he recounted everything from the point he was jolted out of his sleep by the scuffle.

-… You have a flying book? – Lyndon mumbled in confusion, when Hazir reached the part about the Flutter Tome.

\- Oh yes, it is filled with every possible spells and words for "flight", and it can stay airborne as long as it does not run out of them. Very useful, although it can only carry one human.

\- _Your magic is most imperfect_ – Malthael commented from the background.

\- Everything has its own limits – Hazir waved the jab away, before continuing his story, including how they made better berths and a larger fire for staying here for the night.

At the end of it, Lyndon still needed a few minutes and a couple of questions to be able to fully make sense of everything. His brain was still fighting off the aftereffects of the fever. He instinctively sought out his crossbow with his hand, feeling more at ease when his fingers curled around its handle once more.

\- How did I not wake up to **that**? – he glanced at the pendulum blade stuck inside the stone pillar.

\- _You tell us_ – Malthael sat down on a nearby chair, which was far too low for him, but that didn't bother him at all.

He clasped his hands strangely tightly, which was visible even in his white sleeves.

Lyndon had to double-take at that.

\- You changed – he blurted out in surprise.

Malthael's clothing developed a few characteristics since the last time Lyndon was conscious: the angel's robe was now more dark greyish blue than actual black, and it gradually turned white at the end of his sleeves. His hood and edges of his coat were adorned by simple white lines, and he had a simple black belt around his hips. It was still the most basic simple look one could have imagined, but was already a far cry from the original. Even his almost non-existent wings had a bit stronger and larger contour than before.

Malthael stayed silent, tilting his hood away.

\- Yes, it was really strange, truly – Abd nodded, gazing over at the angel. – I think he shapeshifted slowly while we were talking about all kinds of things… Is this a common thing among your kin?

- _… Yes, it is._

\- You are a sucky liar, Malthy – Lyndon grinned weakly.

\- **_That is not my name_** – Malthael's hood angrily snapped back in their direction.

\- And mine is not "demonspawn", so there – the scoundrel shrugged.

Abd al-Hazir was busy scratching down notes in his notebook that somehow was in his hands in a fraction of a second. That speed was unmatchable.

Lyndon went back to munching down his food slowly. Despite his growling stomach, he could barely force himself to take a bite, due to the sourness of his throat.

\- What did you make me drink? – he mumbled, glancing at Hazir.

\- I… may have made the medicine a bit too strong, I admit. I was in a hurry and also quite startled.

\- At least it worked. Thanks for that – Lyndon sighed. – Now what do we do?

\- My local Portalfolio probably cooled down at this point—

\- In this weather? It has frozen solid years ago.

\- I meant magically. So we can use it to travel back close to Westmarch, or Duncraig or Bramwell. I have yet to leave my Portalfolios all over the world, but I'm getting there slowly.

Lyndon grimaced. The last thing he wanted was to allow Malthael to roam freely once more. He needed to come up with an idea to secure the genocidal angel and make sure he cannot hurt or kill anyone—

 _Wait._

\- You **stopped** me! – the scoundrel called out, looking at Malthael.

 _\- Whatever are you babbling about, demonspawn?_

\- Just now! You stopped me from killing you. That stab could have been fatal, even for an angel.

Malthael fell silent like the grave, but his invisible glare could have set the table on fire.

\- It's true – Lyndon shrugged simply.

 ** _\- I absolutely loath you._**

\- Mutual.

Even the angel's voice changed a bit, Lyndon noted silently. Still a far cry from the original heavy drawl of earth-shaking doom, but it was recognizable as an actual person's voice. A very boring, very cranky, very annoying person, for sure, but still a person.

-… How did you two end up together, again? I feel like I am missing something here – Hazir pointed out, eyes darting between his two companions, quill at the ready above his notebook.

\- Trust me, you are better off without the details – Lyndon huffed.

\- I disagree. Details are the most important.

\- I don't want to talk about it, Hazir. Sorry – the scoundrel glanced at him apologetically.

The Archivist visibly drooped at this, but put his notebook away.

\- Maybe another day – he mumbled.

\- And not a word from you – Lyndon sent a glare in Malthael's direction.

 _\- I do not have the need of constant rambling that is characteristic of your worthless species._

-… Is he always this grumpy? – Hazir whispered to Lyndon.

\- Usually worse.

\- Oh great. I thought angels would be the jubilant type. From what I have read about them…

\- They are farthest things possible from that.

\- _You disregard Auriel, hellspawn_ – Malthael added his own piece.

\- She alone is what we imagine an angel is like – Lyndon nodded curtly. – Bright, optimistic, kind, beautiful…

\- Aaa-haaammmm – Hazir agreed quietly, notebook already back at work. – Isn't she the Aspect of Hope?

\- Yes, she is – Lyndon looked at him. – You have learnt a lot since our last encounter, Hazir. If I recall some of your writings, you were quite dismissive of angels and demons in general.

\- Being an Archivist has opened my eyes to a lot of things. Cain's works did a marvelous job of that. I am still processing most of—

\- _We need to go_ – Malthael suddenly blurted out, his clasped hands only gripping each other tighter as time went by.

\- In a rush to somewhere? – Lyndon growled at him.

He was slowly recovering, being able to eat more and more of the food, but his head still buzzed and he didn't feel all that strong to walk long distances.

 _\- This place is hardly ideal for resting, demonspawn._

\- He does have a point – Hazir nodded. – We were lucky no more Unclean or some other manner of beasts have discovered our camp so far.

Lyndon recalled the distinct feeling he had while waking up, of being _watched_ by something angry. These two may have been right.

\- And how do we get back to your Portalfolio? – he asked.

\- Oh, that's easy – the Archivist waved the concern away.

He pulled out his own Portalfolio from his tunic:

\- Each and every of these books contain the locations of the others all around Sanctuary. They even show if the book is being moved somewhere. I can make mine point us to the right direction, and all we have to do is not freeze to death.

\- Or run into beasts.

-… Right. That too.

Lyndon exhaled loudly. The sooner they left this damned place, the better, that much was true. He could start looking for Quiet faster that way.

\- Just give me a moment here – he mumbled, looking down at his meal.

Silence settled on the group. Hazir busied himself revising and scratching certain parts of his notes. His expressions spoke volumes whenever he found a great or an apparently terrible sentence in his work. His quill danced tirelessly.

Malthael did not escape Lyndon's concealed attention, either. The angel exercised his usual muteness, but not much else: he fidgeted anxiously in his seat and his hands refused to let each other go. He was tilting his hood, trying his damnest (and failing miserably) not to do it obviously, as if listening to something. The scoundrel raised an eyebrow at this behavior but did not comment. Maybe Malthael was just off-put by Baal's remaining touch on the ruins. Quiet too had been awfully distressed in Kingsport, Zaboul's aura setting him on edge.

The food slowly helped Lyndon recover. He could already feel the life returning into his limbs from the few bites and the water he had had. He wasn't sure how much of a fight he could offer out in the Eternal Woods, but simple travelling he could probably manage at this point. So with a deep sigh, he stood up and gathered his crossbow and backpack, as well as the thickest wall-rug he could find from the pile. He covered himself in the latter, while Hazir followed suit.

Malthael looked almost relieved at the sight. He too stood up.

\- Show the way, Hazir – Lyndon smiled slightly at the Archivist, gesturing at the main entrance of the hall.

The scholar pulled out his Portalfolio and quickly thumbed through the pages, keeping the magic inside them with his focus. He began walking and the other two followed him without a word.

They left the hall behind, and after a short and completely wrecked corridor, they found themselves outside the fort, with some kind of bridge stretching out before them. Lyndon stopped for a second, pulling the wall-rug tighter around him and taking a deep breath through his nose. The snow storm mostly died down, snowflakes lazily and scarcely drifted in the air. He allowed the stinging air to fully clear his head, fill his lungs…

… And carry the sound of war drums to his ears.

The scoundrel grew roots to his spot, and he listened, eyes staring forward.

\- Is everything alright? – Hazir looked back, closing the book briefly.

Malthael's glare was palpable.

\- _Lyndon_ – he actually said his name.

The scoundrel was focused on the sounds, however. They **were** war drums, powerful, almost certainly magically fueled. Out in the open air, the ruins of Sescheron's walls echoed the music in every possible direction. Lyndon could recall a certain group of enemies always using drums in his past adventures.

He glanced at Malthael with green eyes.

 _\- We need to_ _ **go**_ – the angel said slowly but tensely.

\- You lying piece of shit – the scoundrel hissed in return.

Then he turned around and stormed back inside the hall, searching for a path leading into the inner courtyard.

oooOOOooo

Lyndon had always believed wholeheartedly that goats were the spawns of one of the Evils, perhaps of Tathamet itself. He could vividly remember the day in his childhood, when a goat broke loose from the nearby slaughter house and for some accursed reason, it zeroed in on him and chased him across the streets of Kingsport for a good while before it got caught thankfully.

The Khazra only reaffirmed this belief in him.

The only good Khazra was a dead Khazra, it was a universally agreed rule all across Sanctuary. These beasts were stupid enough to withstand any kind of diplomatic or peaceful approach, but clever enough to create deadly traps, cast spells, raise ghosts and, naturally, make pacts with demons.

Because goats were the spawns of Hell.

Luck had been on Lyndon's side: upon entering into the main inner courtyard, not only did he not run into any enemies, but he also quickly spotted a narrow winding staircase that led up to a smaller bastion just high enough to watch over the entire place. The Barbarians had been big fans of inner defenses, so that the enemy would not have an easy time even if they breached the walls. Lyndon quickly climbed up the stairs, with Abd al-Hazir and Malthael behind him barely being able to keep up. The angel followed with some reluctance, clearly torn between going after them and just leaving altogether.

The trio settled down onto the snowy-icy lookout, the cleared-up weather on their side for once. That did not mean the revealed scene was to their liking.

\- And I was hoping this day would get better – Hazir mumbled, crestfallen.

In the heart of the courtyard, the entire Ice Khazra Clan gathered. Some of them were patrolling, or at least trying to keep up the pretense of that, as everyone's attention was drawn to the center. No one even thought about looking up at the bastion.

An amphitheater-like structure was sunk half-way into the ground, with the stone benches mostly still intact. On the benches three rows of drummers sat and played their instruments with zealous vigor. The resulting music was surprisingly orderly and powerful, it even looked like they caused slight shockwaves that kicked up a haze. Still, the stage was mostly visible, especially the hastily dug out pool for collecting absurd amounts of blood.

Three Khazra shamans were busy slaughtering their own people over an altar made from the stones of the fort, standing just before the pool. The warriors far too eagerly threw themselves under the wicked ceremonial blades. The shamans did their tasks with surgical precision, all the while shouting words on their bastardly tongues, with one specific "malluss" returning constantly. The slaughtered Khazra were left to bleed for a minute, their blood magically drawn into the pool. Then one of the shamans barked an order and tossed the corpse to the audience. The onlookers grabbed the body and dragged it along the ground, making sure it left a bloody trail.

It was clear they were using the slaughtered to draw some kind of large pattern on the ground. After they were done with that, they threw the corpse onto a slowly growing pile which held some Unclean bodies next to the goatmen.

\- They are summoning something – Lyndon growled in a low voice, recognizing the circle-like symbol with radiant lines all originating from its center, the pool.

The lines even grew on their own. Slowly but surely they spread across the uneven terrain like still wet paint, turning into waving, twisting patterns. It reeked with a repelling demonic aura. It was hard to tell whether or not that feeling of being watched came from this symbol as well, but Lyndon was convinced it did.

\- **_Maluus_** – Malthael breathed, keeping his gaze on the bastion's roof.

\- Maluus? As in… "Rage Plague" Maluus? – Hazir hissed anxiously.

\- Who is the guy? – Lyndon looked at them in confusion.

\- Maluus was a demon who invaded Sanctuary over 20 years ago, some time before the destruction of Mount Arreat – the scholar hurriedly answered. – He started a so-called "rage plague" that spread by blood, and completely drove everyone mad who came in contact with it. It left demonic red markings on the body, something like a warpaint. It devastated most of the Dreadlands settlements, using the Barbarian tribes that were not involved in the defense of the mountain. Only one town by the name of Staalbreak survived the ordeal.

\- What does that bastard do, exactly? – Lyndon looked at Malthael who appeared to be trying to sink into the stone floor.

\- _He takes over with his blood_ – Malthael rumbled, lost in his own mind. – _Twists emotions, then brains, then bodies. Nigh-impossible to kill, changes hosts by a whim. His influence spreads with every tainted blood drop that touches an opponent._

\- Apparently Maluus had taken over a Barbarian leader, Khelric completely, and that somehow made him vulnerable – Hazir nodded. – Perhaps he anchored himself too close to one host. A young man with a magical sword slain him eventually, but by that time most of the Barbarian tribes were wiped out.

Lyndon thought for a second.

\- You know him, don't you? – he glanced at Malthael.

- _… Yes._

\- Met him before?

 _\- He was the reason we were beaten back to the Diamond Gates. A single demon… and we lost three battalions to him. Took us too much time to realize the real weapon was his blood_ – the angel mumbled, taking a trip down memory lane he clearly did not want.

Lyndon didn't pry further.

\- Alright. So we need to stop him from coming back – he stated.

\- **_Fool! We need to flee!_** – Malthael barked angrily at him.

Lyndon took in a sharp breath, bridling his exploding rage but allowing his blazing eyes to speak volumes of it.

\- We are the **only ones** who know this is going on – he said evenly, in a greatly restrained tone. – We are the **only ones** far and near who can do something against it. If **we** do not stop this bastard from coming back, he will get out of here and there is no telling how many he will kill this time.

\- I'm with Lyndon on this one – Hazir mumbled in a weak voice. – If we don't step up, no one will in time… I just really _really_ hate this.

Malthael glared daggers at them.

\- **_Suicidal fools, the lot of you_** – he hissed finally.

\- We mortals are incapable of self-sacrifice, remember? That means we will definitely survive this – Lyndon sneered at him.

The angel only looked like he wanted to kick Lyndon down from the bastion. The scoundrel, however, was already turning his attention back to the scene before him. He glanced down at the shivering Abd al-Hazir who looked like he just wanted to sink into his wall-carpet coat and disappear forever.

\- Hazir, listen – Lyndon turned to him.

\- Yes, sorry. These Khazra just kept me prisoner, you know, and I… just remember it – the scholar mumbled in slight shock.

Lyndon placed a firm hand on the shaking shoulder as he watched the goatmen. He didn't really know what to say, or even how to begin plotting against this threat.

 _"_ _You are a good man, and a hero of Sanctuary."_

Lyndon still wasn't completely sure if Ytar was right with that statement, but he also understood that if they run away now, Maluus will bring a terrible vengeance onto this world. He had every chance to reach a truly populated area, perhaps Westmarch itself. And if that happens, millions of people could die a horrible death.

Lyndon could not allow that to happen.

He looked at Hazir with a reassuring, if faint, smile:

\- Come on, friend. The eyes of Sanctuary are on us.

* * *

 **So life's been a bit crazy lately, and I also had to really iron out the general story line of both the remaining Act II, and the following Act III. There were some complications, as well as new and worthy ideas, which threw the original plan into a bit of a twist. But I think I've got it now, so let's get back on the road! Shit is still in the way, but with the impending BlizzCon, I cannot help but be hyped as hell for the Diablo announcement.**

 **As always, thank you so much for your patience, cupcakes! ^^ Your support is a great help against the obstacles.**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- Ice Khazra Clan: Populating the Dreadlands, the Ice Clan is mostly known for their shamans having fire magic, and that they have no scent at all, which makes them almost ghost-like.

- Maluus: creator and spreader of the rage plague, but surprisingly he is not the Lord of Wrath. Maluus was the main antagonist in the comic series "Sword of Justice", where he took over first a bunch of necromancers, then somehow he ended up in the Dreadlands with them, where he spread to nearby Barbarian tribes, including the Owl tribe, home of Gynvir. Eventually, Maluus completely changed the leader Khelric's body into something demonic, and he was finally slain by Jacob Staalek. We never actually see Maluus, only through hosts, so his real form is anyone's guess.

 **DeviantArt links**

Quiet's Halloween costumes: deviantart-.-com-/-kenyizsu-/-art/Diablo-3-Quiet-s-Halloween-Costumes-768008939

Project Zodiac - Aries: deviantart-.-com-/-kenyizsu-/-art/Diablo-Project-Zodiac-Aries-769794997

Project Zodiac - Aquarius: deviantart-.-com-/-kenyizsu-/-art/Diablo-Project-Zodiac-Aquarius-769957714


	36. Chapter 36

**9082 words, cupcaaaaaaakes!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 36_**

Maluus. Malthael's personal biggest failure.

The Archangel of Wisdom had always counted that terrible loss as his own fault. Maluus had been the most average-looking demon one could possibly imagine, and he had attacked with an entire wave of other mosnters. He had been slain, of course, but made sure his blood splattered all over the defending angels. At first, nothing happened, and the battle was won. Then the insubordination started: shouting, fights, disobedience. Imperius was seemingly losing control over a handful of his soldiers. Malthael had not paid it much attention back then. Then during a fight of disagreements, angelic essence was actually spilled onto other seraphim. The insubordination spread, and got worse and worse. Imperius and Tyrael could do nothing, Auriel failed, Malthael could not decipher the sudden madness.

By the time Wisdom traced back the tainted essence to Maluus and issue an order to quarantine the afflicted, it was already over. The Angelic Host was increasingly less successful at keeping the sieging demons at bay, while crazed seraphim weakened their unity from the inside. They were being pushed back at an alarming pace. Most tainted angels turned into corrupted ones and switched sides. The next thing they all knew, the Host was hard-pressed to protect the Diamond Gates themselves.

Malthael never truly forgave himself for his slowness in that matter, even though by some damned miracle they came out on top in the end. He knew he should have counted themselves lucky Imperius and all his other siblings somehow escaped Maluus' influence amidst the chaos. That would have meant the end of the Eternal Conflict, all because of a **single** low-life demon!

The archangel has memorized Maluus' aura and learnt to hate it, despite the demon only appearing one more time ever again during the war. He had been quickly banished successfully then.

Here in this godforsaken fortress, Baal's remnants temporarily masked Maluus' vile aura, but eventually, as the foolish demonspawn just **refused** to wake up, Malthael picked up on it. Without his powers and without the Angelic Host to back him up, the angel wanted nothing to do with the monster, and tried his damnest to usher the two mortals to leave as soon as possible. Of course the dimwitted hellspawn heard the drums, turned around and stormed back inside! Malthael internally screeched for minutes without pause as he ran after the fools. Why did he have to be stuck with these two?!

He still hoped that the mortals would see the ritual, back down and make a run for it. Humans all carried the wicked cowardice of demons, certainly it would surface now…

It didn't.

 ** _Instead_** , Lyndon announced that they were going to stop Maluus from entering Sanctuary. It was as if listening to pre- _idiotic_ -fall Tyrael, the only difference was that the hellspawn was a weak sick _human_ , armed with a butter knife and a crossbow, against an army of demonic goatmen.

Malthael was beginning to resign himself to his fate, that he would die on this forsaken mudball, killed by vicious herbivores armed with axes. Somehow he wasn't feeling too ecstatic about all this.

So with all that, when Lyndon summoned a treasure goblin with a coin, Malthael decided to practice a hobby he had picked up when he had been tossed back to Sanctuary: he turned his brain off and just went with it.

oooOOOooo

Lyndon stared down at the repulsive ritual, his mind coming up empty on the subject of "brilliant plan". It was clear that the sight itself disrupted his focus, but even looking away, he was stumped. An entire clan of demonic goats, armed with axes, javelins and magic, against a rogue with a dagger and crossbow, a scholar who had maybe three fights in his life before, and a useless deadweight angel with non-existent powers.

To call the odds low was very generous.

The scoundrel tore his eyes away from the ritual for the n-th time, ducked behind the bastion's parapet and wrecked his brain for any idea. His hands involuntarily began rummaging in his pockets, looking for anything that could help. All he found were his blinding power, his three good-luck charms (which he squeezed for a second)… and a little round something.

Puzzled, Lyndon pulled it out. It was a pure golden coin, but with a treasure goblin's profile on it. Oh… it was the dime he had gotten from Luther as a gift a few weeks ago. The scoundrel still had no idea what was the reason behind it, but kept it nonetheless.

\- Can we do anything here? – Hazir whimpered next to him, shocked to his core. – I mean… we must do something, I know, but what can we do, this is way too much for us!

\- I'm thinking – Lyndon mused.

His fingers, moving on their own, flipped the coin while he was lost in thought. The dime landed in his palm, and a ripple ran across the air, knocking the scoundrel out of his stupor.

The next second a golden portal popped into existence at an arm's length from the trio, and a hunched figure vaulted across it.

\- _HA-HEE, frienddd!_ – greeted the treasure goblin with the white horn, hoisting a huge sack proudly.

\- Luther! – Lyndon cried out in surprise, almost jumping up.

\- What the hell?! – Abd al-Hazir nearly threw himself off of the bastion in alarm as he scuttled back from the sudden visitor.

Malthael glared at the demon, his arm raised as if preparing to slap the little freak into next week. Luther seemed absolutely unfazed by the reception, and happily shook the stunned Lyndon's hand.

\- _Friend!_ – he announced again.

\- What are you doing here? – the scoundrel stared at him.

Luther pointed at the dime, grinning widely.

\- I… I can call you with this? – Lyndon guessed, to which he received a vigorous nod.

\- You have a treasure goblin as a friend? You will **truly** need to tell me this later – Hazir glanced at the scoundrel in utter disbelief.

\- It is a weird story, I admit.

 _\- Heee!_

 _\- Anu help us_ – Malthael grumbled.

\- Shut up, Malthael, you insisted on attaching yourself to me. Now bear the consequences of that! – Lyndon barked at the angel.

 _\- I_ _ **fully**_ _ **regret**_ _saving you all those times._

\- Too bad, it's done now.

\- Keep it down or they will hear us – Hazir hissed urgently at them.

\- _Haeee-heee_ – Luther agreed in a much lower tone, dropping his sack and flattening against the ground.

Lyndon looked back down at the courtyard. Most of the snowy ground was covered by the self-growing bloody summoning circle. Its center, the pool was positively boiling at this point. The Khazra were going nuts with chanting and drumming and dancing, pretty much every second word was "Maluus".

They were running out of time fast.

\- _Friend?_ – Luther asked, peeking from behind the parapet.

\- We need to stop these Khazra from summoning a demon called Maluus, Luther. I just… don't have any idea how.

 _\- We are all going to die_ – Malthael stated behind them matter-of-factly.

\- Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mal.

 _\- I have no confidence in you, or your entire species. And that is_ _ **not my name**_ _._

\- Ignore him, he's an asshole – Lyndon glanced at Luther.

\- _Hae_ – the treasure goblin agreed.

The scoundrel thought for a second, his eyes darting from one point to the next.

\- Hazir, can your Lorenado be stopped? – he asked then.

\- I… I think not. Until it runs out of magic, it goes wherever I want it.

Lyndon looked at the ridiculously enormous treasure sack which alone must have weighted a ton, yet Luther carried it around like it was nothing.

\- You have an idea? – Abd asked with slight hope in his voice.

\- I'm thinking. We need to take out the Ice Clan swiftly, kill as many with one fell swoop as possible.

\- The Lorenado is best in closed quarters, to be honest – the scholar admitted uneasily.

\- That is why we'll need to upgrade it with something – Lyndon nodded. – Luther, are you willing to help us?

\- _Ahaaa!_

\- Can I ask for your treasures?

\- _Hae!_

\- Gods, I hope that was a yes. We need a lot of magical items that can shoot beams and blow up on their own. Do you have any of those?

Luther immediately dived into his own sack and began throwing all kinds of trash out of there. Soon there was a quite nice pile of magical wands, staffs, sources, focuses, three barrels with fireworks-powder, a handful of large gems that seemed to have some kind of flame within them, and other magical items that looked like they could blow up from a bad glance.

Lyndon smiled faintly at the sight. Turning back to the summoning, the scoundrel could finally think properly.

oooOOOooo

Despite clearly having great experience with demonic magic, the Ice Clan really did not expect the Lorenado-Straight-Outta-Hell barreling down on them out of nowhere.

The Khazra had committed the big mistake of grouping up pretty tightly as the summoning was nearing its end. They all wanted to see the emerging of the demon in the amphitheater, so they shoved, bleated and angrily shook their weapons at each other for the better spots. They also failed to look behind themselves, until it was too late.

Luther had no problem whatsoever filling the Lorenado with his treasures, he was positively glowing with pride as he and Abd al-Hazir watched from cover as the twister, now suddenly filled with volatile magic, stormed forward. With a mighty roar, the spell crashed straight into the heart of the gathering, killing Khazra by the dozen with each passing moment. It shot beams at every conceivable angle, hurled exploding objects like hail, wrecking everything around itself. The Khazra screeched in alarm, some threw javelins at the threat, but the Lorenado simply sucked up the weapons and shot them out in random directions, often hitting the mark with them.

Two out of the three shamans turned around to confront the rabid twister, while the third kept up the chanting stubbornly. One flung fire blasts which only made the Lorenado even worse. The other shaman bleated a strange spell that, alarmingly, actually had an effect: the twister wavered and slowed down in its path, although it still spewed magic and fire everywhere. One random beam from a staff hit the fire-flinging shaman straight in the head, killing it instantly. Unfortunately, both chanting shamans survived the attack, and the second could finally nullify the Lorenado.

Despite this setback, only twenty Khazra remained alive, out of the over fifty they were originally.

\- That was so amazing – Hazir breathed, peeking out from a smaller trench.

\- _Hae!_ – Luther agreed wholeheartedly from next to him.

The surviving goatmen went absolutely livid at their losses, with foaming mouths and bloodshot eyes they screamed bloody murder. Before they could spot Hazir and the treasure goblin, Lyndon swooped down onto a small group of three and slashed their necks and abdomens open in quick succession. Up until this point, the scoundrel was posing as part of a wrecked, discarded cart in the middle of the courtyard, willing his clothes and his protective wall-rug to merge into the background. He waited out the Lorenado from a safe distance then jumped into the fray.

On the other side, Malthael did the same, armed with his simple but deadly punyal. The angel went along with the plan without a single word, despite his clear doubt in their survival. Hazir and Luther too emerged and charged with loud battlecries. The scholar was holding a book above his head, which greatly diminished his fearsome appearance. Luther, on the other hand, sported a golden two-handed broadsword from his collection, while carrying his own sack as well.

The four unlikely heroes fearlessly fell upon the Khazra.

The remaining beasts pulled back and created a defensive ring around their two shamans. Luther grabbed a nearby dead goatman by its hooves and threw it with all of his might at the line, knocking a few foes off their feet. The not-chanting shaman shot fire at the treasure goblin in return, but the little demon eagerly showed off the incredible speed and agility of his species.

The goatmen retaliated but Hazir had equipped everyone with Mighty Pens before the attack, thus the axes and javelins got stuck on quills. Malthael had to dance away from three slashes aimed at him, one of them barely missing his side. He struck out with his dagger but it was deflected. Hissing in anger, he retreated a little closer to Hazir and Luther. The treasure goblin clubbed a Khazra to death with little effort. Hazir shouted curses at the goatmen, acting as more of a distraction while he swatted and danced away from jabs. He was trying to position himself in a certain way where the two shamans fell in one line for him.

Lyndon's dagger glowed green as he slashed and jabbed with it. It broke the tip of javelins, cut off two spearheads and a hand of a Khazra. If the scoundrel had the opportunity, he would have questioned just how this completely ordinary dagger was capable of doing all this. Right there and then, however, he was just eternally grateful that it did. They had to get through to the summoner, but the goatmen, realizing their situation, put up a hell of a lot more fight than usual, standing their ground like immovable statues.

Abd al-Hazir finally found an opening. He threw down a book, screaming a command word at it. The tome turned into a Letter Cannon and began its deadly barrage at the enemy, straight between Malthael and Luther who instinctively drew back. The Cannon had been immensely effective.

Too effective, in fact.

The fire-throwing shaman was caught in the middle of the onslaught and it flew back… straight into the boiling pool. It disappeared under the waves without a trace, and the blood's swirl became even madder.

Lyndon jumped back from a strike, and stared at the pool in terror. Without thinking, he blinked, straight behind every Khazra and onto the other end of the amphitheater. He grabbed his crossbow and shot at the summoning shaman, now nothing obscuring his view of the target.

The bolt whizzed through the air, and hit the shaman straight in the chest. Its spell finally faltered and it stumbled forward into the blood.

Lyndon had a single moment to blink away from the sudden explosion. Where he stood a second ago, the air was cut through by freshly formed claws that sprayed blood everywhere. The scoundrel landed a few meters behind his own team, frantically tearing off the carpet from his body, which was covered in stains.

Something was emerging from the pit, horned, raw and disgusting.

\- RUN! – Lyndon screamed.

Malthael grabbed the frozen Hazir and dragged him along, while Luther easily passed all of them with his sack on his back, screeching in alarm. Lyndon stayed a second longer, locking eyes with their new opponent.

\- **_It's good to be back!_** – Maluus laughed with glee.

He looked like a demon Marauder, only without the skin. His reptilian head and hunched back were the exact same as all those troopers Lyndon and Johanna had killed at Bastion's Keep. Maluus, however, appeared to be shaped out of blood and meat entirely, a clear sign of his new reforming. He was huge, well over four meters, as he stepped out of the amphitheater with ease. The remaining five Khazra cheered at him, even as Maluus swung his arm over them and covered them in blood.

\- **_You there! Mortal!_**

Lyndon did not wait for him to finish. He finally turned around and ran after his team, not looking back.

oooOOOooo

\- I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! It's all my fault! – Hazir wailed, hiding his face into his hands.

\- Stop it! You are not responsible for this – Lyndon tried to calm him as he helped Malthael drag him along, deep into the keep's dark rooms.

They had found temporary escape from their pursuers inside the ruins, but it could not last for long.

\- But I knocked the shaman into the pool! – Hazir cried miserably.

\- And I knocked the summoner into the pool. We all screwed up! – the scoundrel countered.

\- I doomed our world!

\- Hazir, listen to me! – Lyndon stopped abruptly and grabbed the scholar by the shoulders, shaking him violently.

This caused Hazir to stop crying with a surprised hiccup.

\- You did **not** doom anything or anyone – the scoundrel stated firmly, forcing him to look into his eyes. – I came up with the plan far too late. If there is blame, it is on me. You did amazingly, your Lorenado single-handedly wiped out almost the entire Ice Clan. Be proud of that! What we need to do is finish the job now!

Hazir gulped, nodding slowly as Lyndon let go of him.

\- _You are_ _ **still**_ _foolish enough to fight? He has spread his essence onto the Khazra. If a single one of them survives, he lives on_ – Malthael growled in a low voice.

\- If we do not go back and engage him, he will grow tired of chasing us and instead leaves to find a large enough settlement – Lyndon glared at the angel. – We have to keep his attention on us! There has to be a way to kill him for good.

\- _Hae!_ – Luther agreed vehemently, taking the scoundrel's side.

\- But what? How?! He sprays blood just by moving! We can't dodge every drop forever – Hazir breathed hard, grabbing his own head in fear.

Lyndon looked around frantically. He had to come up with something! Anything! Something that can help kill this hellborn bastard—

They were in some kind of ritual chamber probably, with the torches still smoldering around them. It stood in a stark contrast with the rest of the fortress: instead of barren walls and floors, patterns adored everything, created from multi-colored pebble mosaics. It was a meticulously done work of art no one would have given the Barbarians. Lyndon's eyes were caught on a relief on the wall next to them, made from slightly larger pebbles than the rest of the decorations. In the dim light, it was hard to make out the image fully, but it was picturing a man ascending to a greatly adorned throne.

\- Hazir… what is the story of the Immortal Throne, again? – Lyndon asked, staring at the piece of art in an almost hypnotic daze.

He had heard about this legend before coming to Sescheron, but knew very little of it. They had not found the throne room during their last adventure here.

\- Wha—what? – the scholar followed his line of sight, catching on.

\- It… it's the highest badge of honor possible for any leader of the Barbarians – he started slowly, finding his footing in story-telling. – The first immortal king was Bul-Kathos himself. They created this throne in his image and believed that the worthy leaders are the reincarnation of their god, thus only they could sit on the throne. One of the few was a king named Worusk who united the tribes and created the Council of Elders. A—as far as I know, King Kanai was considered for this position as well, but he died fighting Baal and soon after Sescheron fell. His death broke the morale of the people.

Lyndon's mind was roaring with thoughts.

\- Does it have any magic? – he asked.

\- I… I don't know. The Barbarians never really shared what exactly an "immortal king" is. For all we know, it could have been a mere title – Hazir sighed helplessly.

The scoundrel took a deep breath.

\- _Friend?_ – Luther asked uncertainly.

-… We have to try it – Lyndon concluded, eyeing the throne on the relief.

\- _You would bet our lives on an old legend?_ – Malthael asked softy from the background.

\- We don't really have a choice. The Barbarians do have their own magic, we all know that. Perhaps the throne is a hub for it, and it may attack the demon out of self-defense – the scoundrel finally tore his eyes away from the wall and looked at the angel.

\- _That is an unhealthy amount of assumptions._

\- Yes, it is. Got any better ideas, **Wisdom**?

- _… No. I see that telling you to flee is futile_ – Malthael shook his head.

\- Glad you caught up – Lyndon nodded slightly.

\- But how do we find it? – Hazir asked. – It's here somewhere in Sescheron, but where?!

That gave Lyndon a pause. He hadn't thought about that problem, damnit!

\- _Friend!_ – Luther spoke up, poking at his own chest.

\- What is it, Luther?

The demon looked around frantically, clearly frustrated to try and come up with a way he could explain himself. Finally he closed his eyes, took a loud _sniff_ and bolted in a random direction, forcing the others to follow him.

\- Wait! – Lyndon shouted as he ran after the treasure goblin through a corridor.

Instead of stopping, Luther burst into a random hall and ran straight at an ivy-covered wall, disappearing behind it. The others hesitated for a second, but it quickly turned out there was a hole in the wall behind the plant. It lead into a small room chuck full of old treasure chests and piled up weapons. Luther stood there, not taking anything but gesturing wildly at the discovery, then at himself again.

Lyndon helplessly glanced between the two, unable to connect the dots.

- _… He can sense large piles of treasure_ – Malthael suddenly spoke, realization dawning on him.

\- _HAE! HAE!_ – Luther agreed, overjoyed.

-… And the Immortal Throne is probably surrounded by offerings from Barbarians over the centuries – Hazir caught on as well.

\- Luther, you are truly godsent – Lyndon smiled at their companion.

\- _Ffriend!_

\- Okay, so… so we find Maluus again and—and get him to follow us to the Throne? – Hazir stammered, nervously wringing his fingers.

\- Correct – Lyndon pulled his crossbow from his back, cocking it. – Let's go. We are not out of this race yet.

oooOOOooo

Malthael was honestly surprised that they were still alive, especially since their original plan had failed spectacularly.

He was so surprised in fact that he kind of forgot to show resistance against Plan B, outside of stating the obvious, that putting their lives on a fancy chair that may or may not have some kind of magic in it is the textbook definition of _risky_. Of course Lyndon didn't really care about that, and if Malthael had to be honest with himself, they didn't have an option here either. They could always let the demon wreak havoc, but that was clearly out of the question, and he mostly settled for that.

Plan B had been devised on the spot: the group would get Maluus to follow them, the treasure goblin (inexplicably named Luther) would lead them to the throne room and they pray that the chair would actually attack the enemy. Two questions remained: whether or not the chair could actually do anything, and whether or not it would realize who the enemy actually was. They did not really have the luxury to dwell on this, nor to at least map out the path leading to the throne room first. They would have to follow Luther blindly.

Malthael was getting used to these non-existent odds at this point.

They caught up with Maluus just before the main entrance of Sescheron. It wasn't hard to track down the demon, although they had to avoid touching the blood trails on the way.

Lyndon's bolt of light sailed across the air and grazed the half-formed shoulder of the demon, earning a painful grunt from him. He turned around, revealing slowly growing skin on his body, his five bodyguards mimicking him. The Khazra already looked more vicious and twisted than before, foam dripped from their mouths.

\- **_You_** – Maluus growled at the strange team of four.

\- We! Figured this was the best way to grab your attention, you **prick**! – spat Lyndon in his direction, crossbow still at the ready.

He acquired a new set of carpet around his body, and he stood on the front, while the others lined up behind him, clutching their weapons. Malthael was fairly certain that only Hazir looked less threatening than him.

\- **_My minions told me you tried to stop my summoning_** – Maluus took a thundering step towards them.

\- That we did. We also wiped the earth clean of the entire Clan. You may congratulate us now – the scoundrel theatrically bowed.

\- _Truly a way with words_ – Malthael grumbled under his nose, listening to the ridiculous back-and-forth.

\- **_Mortals have become quite pesky in my absence_** \- Maluus commented with slight annoyance.

\- Oh no! We actually got more moderate since then. You were just too stupid to realize that.

\- **_Is this a joke?_**

\- Your mere existence already covers the comedy. There is no need for more.

Maluus snorted at this, revealing his fangs. He lazily swung an arm behind himself, to which one Khazra turned around and began marching into the forest.

Lyndon's aim was true this time. His bolt flew straight into the head of the beast, killing it instantly.

\- Y'know… I really do hate it when I do not receive the **full** **_attention_** of the jerk I am talking to. I might even get _offended_ – Lyndon hissed menacingly.

Malthael gently raised his hand, gesturing at the fallen Khazra. By some miracle, his magic obeyed him this time and he encased the corpse into a tomb of ice, so no hungry wild beast could get to it.

What the angel refused to show was his exhaustion at this simple feat. He had thrown every ounce of his focus into this, along with a good amount of prayer and desperate hope that his magic would do as he says and not send him flying. This one time Itherael was on his side, apparently. He could feel Lyndon's glance on him, but did not acknowledge it.

\- **_So you know_** – Maluus sneered.

\- Oh we know a lot of things about you. But I was kinda hoping for someone… bigger, you understand? – Lyndon returned the grin. – More unique. You are quite the bore to look at.

\- **_It is bold of you to think you could stop me._**

\- A kid did it last time – Hazir chimed in.

Malthael silently congratulated him: the scholar sounded like he was one of the finest of Valor's soldiers, when his mind was buzzing with fear and worry. It was hard to pull off such a feat in the presence of a demon that was capable of wiping out entire squadron of angels, given enough time.

That one comment had some strong effect on the demon finally. He drew forward with an angry snarl.

 ** _\- And what shall you do, I wonder? You think yourself a warrior and you are throwing around books, you worthless worm?!_**

\- Hey, as long as it works! – Hazir held his book higher out of sheer defiance.

 ** _\- What can you honestly achieve? Two nameless nobodies, a cowardly goblin and a worthless angel._**

So Maluus did not recognize him. Malthael was privately glad for that, and was not in a hurry to point the mistake out. He knew the demon would prioritize him as the main target the second he realized he had an Archangel in such a vulnerable position.

\- Isn't it obvious, Maluus? – Lyndon grinned at their opponent. – We are going to kill you. Simple.

The demon threw his head back at this and laughed uproariously. It quickly turned into an actual roar, though, to which his remaining Khazra charged forward, with him following suit.

\- Luther – Lyndon mumbled.

The treasure goblin shrieked defiantly and yanked out a prepared wand from his sack. He swung it wildly and sent a bolt of orange light forward. The attack flew straight into the chest of a Khazra, turning it into ash immediately. Luther quickly threw the wand at his friends then turned on his heels and took the deepest sniff in his life. Malthael awkwardly caught the wand in his surprise just as they began their strategic retreat into the fortress.

\- Use it! – Lyndon shouted as he fired his (definitely angelic) crossbow rapidly to slow down the enemy.

\- _It is fire-magic, I cannot do that!_ – Malthael complained, hopelessly trying to call upon the power inside the object.

\- Your kind sucks **this** badly at magic?!

 _\- We are more powerful than you can imagine!_

\- Guys! – Hazir shouted as he threw a book like a Frisbee to knock aside a Khazra for a second.

\- Bullshit! A newbie apprentice can do more than you can! – Lyndon barked at Malthael.

\- _Watch me,_ _ **hellspawn**_ _!_ – Malthael forced the words between his invisible teeth, then swung the wand at the enemy, pouring his anger into the move.

It would have been far more satisfying to aim at Lyndon, but thankfully his will to survive overrode that impulse.

A bright blue bolt exploded from the wand, hitting a Khazra. The goatman let out a surprised hiccup before its entire body turned into solid ice, then promptly self-combusted, leaving behind nothing.

\- See? It's not so hard – Lyndon grinned at the angel, as he half-ran half-skipped across the floor.

\- Emotions can be your friend, Mal – Hazir added, clearly relieved that there were only two Khazra left.

Malthael wanted to retort, but just then, one of the goatmen suddenly gained speed, skipped across a couple of wrecked tables and flew straight at the angel with his javelin at the ready. Malthael stumbled backwards, almost falling over in some kind of trash on the floor. From his right, came flying a green dagger, embedding itself into the Khazra and blowing up. The burning corpse tumbled through the ruins, slowly rolling into a convenient hole.

\- That was lucky as all hell. But now I have no dagger – Lyndon hissed.

Malthael regained his footing and, still in a strange half-running backwards stance, looked around frantically. Only one Khazra, and Maluus would be forced to focus on them if he wanted minions. That had been part of the plan, although the kind of part which required a **lot** of improvisation. Malthael had never really been all that good in that, Imperius was the undisputed king.

Lyndon and Hazir were in full retreat, the latter being dangerously low on books with which he could batter their pursuers. Neither of them saw that Maluus was slowing down. Malthael realized with dread the demon lost interest in them, and was probably contemplating simply turning around and going outside.

Not even thinking, Malthael suddenly stopped and lunged forward, wand held high. He crashed into the surprised Khazra and grabbed its neck, throwing it at a wall so hard its skull cracked audibly. Malthael tore off a burning torch from the nearby pillar and jammed it into the chest of the beast, setting the fur ablaze. The Khazra, still partially alive, trashed and bleated around in agony, but Malthael already jumped away to a safe distance.

Then the angel did something he had truly rarely done in his long life: he bellowed from the top of his lungs:

 _\- STOP AND FACE MALTHAEL, ARCHANGEL OF WISDOM, FIRSTBORN OF ANU!_

Maluus, who was already leaving a dozen meters away, froze. He turned around with nerve-grinding slowness, with honest bewilderment on his face.

\- **_Malthael… you? You dare claim to be an archangel, you worm?_** – he snorted.

The rest of the group also stopped in dread a few meters further.

Malthael stood with parted legs, locking eyes with the demon.

\- **_You cannot be Malthael_** – Maluus snarled, taking a step forward. – **_You are the weakest angel I have ever seen. You barely have an aura._**

\- _You question me, mindless beast?_ – Malthael asked in a low voice.

He reached his free hand out and once again forced his magic to cooperate. A shape materialized among his fingers, and soon Chalad'ar itself appeared, filling the room with a soft humming. Maluus held his head slightly higher at the demonstration.

He didn't have to know that the chalice was an illusion. Malthael could not sense the bond to Chalad'ar in his soul, but he knew every detail of it, could picture it with crystal clear clarity.

 _"_ _Tyrael consults the chalice. I can use it to break him."_

The angel tore himself away from the unwanted memory, as he slowly regally dismissed the illusion, as if it was the real thing.

\- _What say you now, villain?_ – he held the wand in an offensive stance.

Maluus' eyes flickered to the side for a brief second. Hazir's and Lyndon's warning shouts came too late.

Something bumped against Malthael's side, not even strong enough to make him stumble. The angel stared down in disbelief at the still burning Khazra he thought had died. The beast really did die, but not before crawling away from its original spot and brushing its bleeding, not yet burning head against the dark blue tunic.

Malthael froze and watched in horror as the dark smear began spreading.

\- **_I have yet to have an archangel in my collection_** – Maluus simply stated, grinning from ear to ear.

He did not expect the ice wall bursting up from the ground, cutting him off from the group, though.

Malthael stumbled back, feeling as if a horrible sickness was taking him over. Survival instinct completely took over and he barely registered the ice wall he created. Crashing against the pillar, Malthael clawed at the stone in despair, trying to shake off the growing influence. The world was shrinking rapidly around him, his own weak aura sputtering under the demon's yoke. He blurrily saw Lyndon, Abd al-Hazir and Luther rushing to him.

\- _Fire! Fire!_ – he choked, unable to say more.

Luther grabbed the wand from his hand and willed it to burst into flames. Malthael clutched the newly made torch and pressed it against his bloodied sight. The agony blasting into his mind cleared out the haze, the world came back into focus with a snap, Maluus' influence retreated. Malthael could barely gasp from the pain but refused to remove the weapon, even as Lyndon shouted at him and tried to pull away his arm.

The ice wall shook with a loud _bang_ as Maluus threw his weight against it, making Hazir jump and scream in fear.

Malthael finally pulled the wand away with a choked cry, as he felt the demonic influence fully leaving him. The blood was completely burnt away, along with a good chunk of his tunic and skin. While it wasn't necessarily a lethal injury for an angel, it maddeningly hurt, and practically rendered him unable to move.

\- You lunatic bastard! – Lyndon roared at him in helpless anger.

\- _Had… t—to_ – was all Malthael could muster at that moment.

Another crash against the ice wall, which was already on the verge of collapse. Luther screeched in alarm, helplessly bouncing in one place. Lyndon's eyes blazed green as he grabbed Malthael and hauled him onto his back.

\- Luther, keep going! – he shouted at the treasure goblin then turned at the ice wall. – Hey, Maluus! Two nameless nobodies and a cowardly goblin got your prize, the worthless angel! I can see now why a mere **kid** had triumphed over you last time, you loser!

With that, the group turned on their heels and ran. Malthael held onto Lyndon's neck, his feet being dragged across the floor. The angel fought to remain conscious as the ice wall completely broke behind them and Maluus came charging with mad rage.

oooOOOooo

If anyone would have told Lyndon a month ago, that he would be dragging the Angel of Death away from a bloodthirsty demon inside a ruined fortress, he would have either laughed in the person's face, or kicked him in the shins then made a run for it, to escape from the mad bastard.

\- GUYS, A LITTLE HELP HERE! – Lyndon roared at the ceiling.

The gods of Sanctuary apparently did not think it was time for a divine intervention, however.

\- USELESS, ALL OF YOU!

\- _The walls c—cannot he—help_ – Malthael offered weakly.

\- You shut the fuck up, you suicidal idiot, you! – Lyndon barked at him as he ran.

There was only one thing good about angels: their weight was laughable. Malthael, despite being 3 meters tall, did not truly hinder him in his speed, thankfully.

Luther was leading the way, occasionally starting to turn but then quickly correcting his path. It was clear he was fighting to keep his focus on the largest treasure pile, which (hopefully) was the Immortal Throne, but smaller stashes posed a distraction, no doubt.

\- Keep going, Luther, keep going! – Lyndon called out, hoping to offer some support.

Hazir remained the only fighting member of the group, which on its own sounded really bad. Add the fact that he was obviously panicking, if his rapid-fire and barely understandable rambling was anything to go by, and the situation got worse. The Archivist did do his best to slow down Maluus, though: he was throwing books and papers from his tunic and his bag which turned big or attacked the demon, he even managed to set up a Letter Cannon that slightly knocked the pursuer back.

\- At least Mal got his attention on us firmly! – Hazir shouted as he vaulted over a broken pillar. – He won't be losing his interest now!

Lyndon had to agree with that. The ridiculously suicidal decision of the angel at least achieved their original goal.

\- It was still so stupid, though – he grumbled under his nose.

\- _Got any better ideas,_ _ **mortal**_ _?_ – Malthael echoed his words back at him.

\- I said shut up!

They had only one advantage in this situation: Maluus had no ranged attacks, it appeared. Otherwise the demon would have bombarded them out of existence by now. Still, he was an unstoppable force, tearing through obstacles the group had to go around or vault over. He was screaming curses which nobody was paying any attention to, probably not even Maluus himself.

Luther suddenly took a sharp turn, leading them out to the courtyard. The cold wind smacked Lyndon in the face but at least now they didn't have to zig-zag among pillars and piles of wreckage. The far end of the courtyard had a bottomless abyss, with a stone bridge spanning over it. Luther and Lyndon stormed across it with ease, somehow not losing their footing on the snow.

A loud crash forced them to stop once they were on the other side. Hazir had lagged behind them somewhat, and he was still in the middle of the bridge when Maluus reached the far end. The demon jumped and slammed down on the structure with everything he had, causing it to collapse.

\- HAZIR! – Lyndon screamed as he watched the Archivist disappear with a look of pure horror on his face.

\- _Ffffriend!_

\- _Run!_ _ **Run**_ _!_ – Malthael breathed, weakly trying to drag Lyndon away from the spot.

Maluus jumped over the abyss with ease, laughing triumphantly. Lyndon felt rage bubbling up in him. He was about to turn to the monster and push Malthael off of himself, ready to fight, consequences be damned.

Rapid thumbing erupted from the abyss and a second later Abd al-Hazir rose up from the pit like a phoenix… dangling from a flying book. Still, Lyndon could not imagine a more beautiful sight right there and then. Maluus also committed the mistake of turning back and staring at the mortal he thought he had killed. Hazir positively glowed with rage as he shot up to the sky, one hand grabbing a tome from his tunic.

\- FALL BEFORE MY AUTHORSHIP, VILE BEAST! – he screamed a battle cry that would have made Valor angels proud, then flung the book with all his might.

Maluus jumped back slightly but he grossly underestimated the attack. The book suddenly burst into a hundred in mid-air, and the improvised hail of writings crashed into the demon, burying him under a formidable pile.

\- Go! Go! I will stay in the air while we are out here! – the Archivist gestured wildly at his friends.

\- Don't scare us like that next time! – Lyndon turned around, almost jumping from joy despite his tone.

\- Trust me, I truly did not plan this!

\- _Mortals are so foolish_ – Malthael mumbled, but the scoundrel could have sworn he heard relief in his voice.

Maluus quickly broke out from his prison, but the group had gained quite the lead by then. They had air superiority now: Abd al-Hazir was officially fed up with this whole thing and he was raining down his righteous fury at the demon from above. Watching him zipping across the sky, throwing books and scrolls and somehow making it work, were all a great testament for how the Archivists managed to fight off an entire Reaper invasion in Westmarch.

No doubt that if any of those defeated freaks had been reborn, they probably had unexplainable phobias of writings now.

Luther led them to the farthest end of the courtyard. The sheer size of Sescheron was absolutely ridiculous, and Lyndon started to see why the fortress fell: it was frankly far too big to be monitored fully. Bastion's Keep had been smaller, yet that size brought them victory in the end, simply because they knew what the hell was going on inside it at all times.

Still, by some sheer force of will, Luther managed to stay on path and he led them to a seemingly separate wing of the fort. On the way they had to dodge discarded carts, corpses of long dead beasts and random holes in the ground. The group was losing the lead Hazir gained for them, since Maluus simply broke through the obstacles like they weren't even there. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of running, demonic roaring and bombarding books, they reached a grand triple gate with Barbarian banners flying on either side. Granted, it looked like every other main entrance of the fort, but Luther ran through the door without hesitation. Hazir landed next to Lyndon and continued on foot.

They tore across a pretty small hall, ending up on a richly adorned stone bridge under the clear sky again.

\- What the hell is up with this architecture, truly?! – Hazir cried out.

\- _Hard to follow_ – Malthael nodded, clinging to Lyndon for dear life.

Thankfully, this bridge was far more massive than the previous one, thus Maluus could not collapse it, much to the demon's dismay. Giant iron braziers lined the bridge's sides, still holding burning embers within them. Lyndon found himself hoping that it was a sign that this place held magic, but Luther found an ever better use of them. He grabbed the braziers and flung them at Maluus with astonishing speed and power, forcing the demon to slow down and dodge the deadly projectiles.

Past the bridge lied yet another building with blood red and golden banners.

\- I swear to the gods if this is another bridge… – Lyndon grumbled venomously.

He knew he wouldn't be able to keep up this fleeing much further, and Hazir was in even worse shape, considering he spent so much energy back in the courtyard.

Inside Lyndon almost committed the mistake of stopping dead on his tracks. The pillar-supported ceiling was at an unbelievable height, barely visible in the cold haze that permeated everything. The ground was a series of giant pedestals rising from a bottomless pit. The floor was intricately patterned, framed by iron braces. The walls had giant demonic trophies and memorial tablets of long dead heroes covering them. Everywhere around them weapons and jars of offerings cluttered the hall. Before the group a short iron bridge stretched out, leading to a smaller but far more important pedestal. It ran into a giant metal icon edged into the ground, showing a horned helmet. A few steps of stairs rose behind it, leading up to—

\- **You think that stupid chair will save you from me?!** – Maluus roared behind them, ramming into a pillar.

Lyndon's sixth sense flared up and he jumped, flinging Malthael further away. Behind him the stone pillar came crashing down, missing him by only a hair's length, but sending him flying. He tumbled over the iron bridge, barely grabbing the edge before he fell over.

\- Got you! – Hazir shouted as he and Luther jumped there and helped him up.

Behind them Maluus shook his head, regaining his bearings from the collision. Malthael, crawling on the bridge, tried to send a bolt of magic at the demon but in his injured state he could not recollect his focus enough to actually do anything.

\- Come on, Mal! – Hazir grabbed his hands and dragged him along, while Luther flung all kinds of objects at the advancing foe.

Lyndon grabbed his only remaining dependable weapon, the crossbow, and readied it. He looked behind themselves when his heel collided with the first step of stairs.

There rose the Immortal Throne. An amalgamation of stone, iron and wood in a fashion that screamed "Barbarian" in every sense of the word. It was wide, overly giant and so robust it was almost a miracle the ground did not collapse under it. The very top of the back of the throne had a carved bull-head on it, while the base was surrounded by lit candles, skulls and bones of great beasts slain. Despite the rest of the hall being littered with offerings, this pedestal was kept clear, no doubt as a sign of respect. On the throne sat a figure motionless: Kanai, no doubt, but preserved _disturbingly_ well. He was wearing full intimidating body armor that only let his lips and the skin around it be visible, but in that patch was perfectly normal-looking, as if the guy was just taking a nap on his favorite chair, and hadn't been dead for over 20 years at this point.

Lyndon turned back as he hopped onto the stairs, and fired his weapon. His bolt flew into Maluus' shoulder who grunted in pain and began bleeding at an abnormal rate.

\- Aw hell – the scoundrel lowered his weapon with dread.

He realized if he used his crossbow, he would only help Maluus. At the same time, the Immortal Throne did not look like it was doing anything. It most certainly did not blast the demon out of existence.

\- Okay! Ideas?! – Hazir scrambled against the large armrest, while also trying his damnest not to touch Kanai's corpse.

\- _We die?_ – Malthael offered weakly, dragging himself up on the stairs.

\- **_A fine plan_** – Maluus grinned at them, his still bleeding shoulder clearly not bothering him the slightest.

\- _Na-haaa!_ – Luther screeched defiantly and yanked a giant spiked mace out of his sack, flinging it around as a warning.

Lyndon grabbed for his backpack, trying to rummage through it for anything he could have used to help fight this beast.

A blood-curling _human_ roar shook the hall.

From behind Maluus, a ghostly Barbarian rose from the bottomless pit, brandishing an enormous battle axe. The apparition struck down with it at the demon's exposed back, and the beast actually screamed in pain. He spun around and struck, banishing the ghost. His back had a large, black gash running across it, an injury that was not bleeding.

More battle cries filled the air and long dead Barbarians rushed forward from every conceivable angle, melting out of air and shadows, each carrying formidable weapons. They ignored the group pressed against the throne completely and threw themselves against Maluus who quickly lost himself in panic and struck blindly and without reason. His attacks vaporized ghosts but simply more took the fallen ones' places. Soon they overwhelmed and stabbed and hacked the demon to death, whose roars of pain quickly turned into whines, then moans, then gasps, then _finally_ , silence.

Lyndon let out a breath he did not realize he was holding when he saw the demon collapse a final time onto the iron bridge, his disgusting, still not fully formed body slowly decomposing without blood. The numberless Barbarian ghosts stood around their prey without a word, then they all turned to the huddled up group. Their eyes were all kept on Lyndon, and only Lyndon.

The scoundrel felt like he had intruded into something he **_really_** shouldn't have.

\- A—do they think we are intruders? – Hazir breathed, frozen with fear.

\- _Are we not?_ – Malthael asked dreadfully.

The chamber shook but the ghosts made no move to attack. Instead they drew back and slowly melted into the nothing they came from. A titanic shape of earth rose in their place, engulfing most of the abyss on the right side of the bridge. It slowly took on a broad, muscular human shape with two blazing yellow eyes.

Lyndon locked eyes with the apparition, and an unnatural chill ran down his spine. He realized with terrible dread that the gaze he had felt in his feverish dreams, that made him want to just _hide_ , had not belonged to Maluus.

It belonged to the earth giant, now towering above the battered heroes.

Lyndon's foresight screamed at him with such sharpness it hurt and he jumped away from the Immortal Throne, to draw the attack away from his friends.

\- **USURPER!** – the monster bellowed and struck, straight at the scoundrel.

* * *

 **Ladies and gentlemen, the single weirdest party in all the lands of Sanctuary. Go go, uh… heroes, I guess?**

 **Honestly, one of my top fav things to do in this fanfic is coming up with ways in which a not-super-OP-Nephalem character can overcome overwhelming odds. It's really fun! Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. ^^**

 **I apologize for the long pause in updates. University is incredibly demanding right now. I also face the problem of my inspiration migrating to StarCraft for the time being, which means most of my ideas are in that subject, and it takes quite the concentration to stir my thoughts back to Diablo. It appears I have succeeded now.**

 **I cannot promise updates will be more frequent from now on. As far as I can tell, there is a chance for it, but the thing I hate doing the most is lying to my audience. I do not know what the future brings. With any luck, the next update won't come over a month later.**

 **As always, I sincerely thank you for your continued support and patience, cupcakes. You guys are the best, I could not ask for a better audience. :)  
**

 **If you add the story to your Favorites or Alerts, you can see when my slow ass decides to update the fic.**

 **Lore & Trivia corner **

\- The Fifth Battle of the Diamond Gates: referenced at the very beginning of this chapter, that infamous siege was the closest the Evils had ever gotten to actually invade the High Heavens, before Prime Evil Diablo rolled around. It had taken the entire angelic host to hold the Gates, and eventually, Tyrael's SIC Izual managed to lead a counterattack that weakened the demonic forces. The final victory came from the Seven Evils jumping at each others' throats over bounty they hadn't even gotten yet.

\- Lorenado-Straight-Outta-Hell: it was inspired by one of our greatest Hungarian novels, _Egri csillagok_ (Stars of Eger), which recounts the tale of our greatest last stand and victory against the invading Ottoman Empire in 1552. The small run-down fortress of Eger ("e" like in "evident") had stopped and utterly crushed the fearsome army, against all odds. Quite like Bastion's Keep in Act III. In the novel written about this feat, there is a scene where the defenders stuff a mill's wooden wheel full of gun-powder, set it on fire and rolling it down onto the Ottoman Turks. The wheel ends up taking quite a few lives, and cuts a large opening into the sieging lines.

\- Luther, the military treasure goblin: it is quite evident that treasure goblins have massive physical strength, considering the ridiculous speed at which they can run while carrying their sack. I have decided to build on this observation and ask the simple question: "How dangerous a treasure goblin could be, if it actually stopped and used one of the legendary weapons hiding in its sack?" The answer: "Probably pretty big". So please enjoy military ace card Luther, the bravest of treasure goblins. :)

\- Maluus' physical appearance: there is no record of how Maluus actually looks like. The closest we get to see him, is when in the comic series _Sword of Justice_ he completely takes over the Barbarian leader Khelric, and even that was simply a twisted version of the man. I have decided to give him a rather ordinary and everyday look, mostly because I wholeheartedly believe that to fully utilize his special powers, Maluus himself cannot be a unique-looking monster. Otherwise everyone would see him come from a mile away and trebuchet/arrow-storm his ass before he gets within a kilometer's range.

\- Worusk: appearing in the description of a legendary Barbarian set, Worusk' lore was set straight during a BlizzCon panel in 2013. He was a Barbarian leader who managed to unite the tribes, a feat previously unimaginable after Bul-Kathos' time. Thus Worusk earned the title "immortal king". Whether or not he was the first after the Nephalem forefather, we do not know for certain, but he more than likely had been.

\- The Immortal Throne: one of the oldest and most intricate Barbarian works of art, a throne only an immortal king can sit on. Very few actually received the honor throughout history. The Immortal Throne is the foundation of the Barbarians' morale, bravery and honor. It is located in the bowels of Sescheron, and it is quite the sight to see and experience, even though there is nothing truly happening around it… except for March each year. It does, however, has a collection of Barbarian ghosts standing guard around it at all times, souls who cannot rest since their proper burial place, Mount Kaboom Arreat, is simply no more.

\- King Kanai: a former member of the Council of Elders, and a promising material for immortal king. He was the chief elder of Sescheron and led his forces against Baal. He was also the last in a line of Guardians who watched over an artifact bestowed upon them by the Horadrim. That artifact later received the name "Kanai's Cube", in honor of the elder. Kanai was placed upon the Throne after his death, and if you zoom in on him in-game, you can see that he was completely preserved and looks like he could stand up and walk around any minute. Very creepy.


	37. Chapter 37

**_Chapter 37_**

The punch shook the entire hall so badly that chunks of the ceiling collapsed into the abyss, the iron bridge broke in half and dangled useless from both sides, and everyone present was sent flying.

Malthael smacked against Kanai's limp corpse, while Abd al-Hazir and Luther flattened against the wall behind the throne. Lyndon flew forward onto the main pedestal with the offerings, but he rolled over his head and quickly regained his footing. He skidded to a halt, turning around to take a look at their sudden new enemy.

It was a giant human made out of earth, his torso sticking out of the abyss but his legs invisible. Lumps of ground fell constantly from the edge of his figure, and outside of his yellow blazing eyes, there was little detail on him. It looked like he had a beard, almost.

\- **WHY YOU?! WHY NOT ME?!** – the giant roared again from the top of his lungs, preparing for another punch.

\- What the hell are you talking about, monster?! – Lyndon shouted back, mostly so that he would keep the attention on himself, while his friends tried to recover around the throne.

He really had no idea what to do, though. They were beaten and tired, he himself could feel his muscles strain from all this demand. Hazir was clearly barely standing on his feet as it is, and Malthael roasted his own side, that idiot. Only Luther was in any real fighting condition, but he was a treasure goblin against an earth giant.

 **\- WHY YOU, OUT OF EVERYONE?! YOU ARE A WORTHLESS LOWLIFE THIEF! YOU EVEN STOLE** ** _THIS_** **FROM US!**

Lyndon blinked to the other end of the hall to evade the cliff-sized fist flying at his face. The shockwave still caught him and flung him further backwards and onto his back. Teleportation took a lot out of his already tired body, and it caused a sudden dizziness to descend upon him. He shook his head, trying to regain his bearings.

\- What did I steal?! I took nothing from your fortress! Who are you even?! – still, Lyndon shouted at his grossly overpowered opponent.

He scrambled back, one hand flying to one of his pockets. His back hit a wall as he yanked out the first object that his fingers caught. The giant reached out towards him, preparing to crush him. The earthy palm was all Lyndon could see for a horrifying second. It was barreling down on him, waking up a kind of terror in him not even Maluus could. The scoundrel screamed helplessly and slashed blindly before himself with the object as the fingers closed in on around him.

Suddenly he was flying. In a hundred directions all at once, feeling like he was just a fleeting thought of some being. Something was dragging him along in this mad dance.

The next second, Lyndon smacked into the floor with a gasp, meters away from his original spot. The earth giant screamed and jerked his arm back, now covered in a web of angry green cuts from wrist to elbow. The ground was falling in larger lumps from the injured limb.

Lyndon, completely dazed, pushed himself from the floor, leaning on all four. He looked down at his right hand, surprised at the sight. His fingers were clutching Slipka's letter opener, and the richly adorned, sheer iron tool held a slight glimmer in its blade. There was something hidden inside it, a power buried for long, but now… it answered Lyndon's call and was ready to do its master's bidding.

The scoundrel's tired brain could not fully fathom how he even sensed all this coming from a stupid letter opener.

\- **YOU LITTLE NOTHING!** – the giant raged, clutching his injured arm. – **ALL THESE CLEAR-SEER TRICKS WILL NOT SAVE YOU, USURPER! I SHALL PROVE THAT YOU WERE THE WRONG CHOICE!**

\- I do not understand a single word you are saying, monster! – Lyndon forced these words out of himself, still unable to get up from the ground.

He glanced up at his opponent who was winding up another punch. The scoundrel had no idea how to dodge this one, he felt like raising his arm was an impossible feat.

Through the hole opened in the ceiling, a powerful burst of pure light exploded straight into the face of the giant. He roared and reared back, covering his eyes.

 ** _Guardian!_**

\- Ytar? – Lyndon asked uncertainly, the voice inside his head jolting him out of his daze slightly.

 ** _Run! Save yourself! This fool is blinded by his pride, you cannot reason with him!_**

\- Who even is he?! – the scoundrel struggled to one knee.

\- **FALL BEFORE THE MIGHT OF BUL-KATHOS, YOU WORM!** – the giant bellowed and swiped with his uninjured arm.

Lyndon threw himself onto the ground a moment too soon, thanks to his sixth sense. The ray of light died down and Ytar's voice faded in his head, the god screaming for someone named Zaim and others to "do something already".

Two pairs of hands grabbed his arms and helped him up from the ground. Hazir and Luther looked at him with terrified faces while Malthael heaved a single bolt of ice from his wand at the giant with great effort, doubling over in pain. They somehow crossed the broken bridge, evaded the strike and now they were dragging Lyndon along, out of the hall of the Immortal Throne.

\- Bul-Kathos— ** _THE_** Bul-Kathos?! We are dead, we are so dead! – Hazir panicked.

\- The Barbarian forefather? – Lyndon tried to catch up as he struggled to his feet.

\- _Hae!_ – Luther screeched as he grabbed the half-unconscious Malthael and lifted him above his head.

Probably not even feeling the angel's laughable weight, the goblin tore off and sped across the main pedestal, shouting strange words that sounded like curses aimed at the earth man. Hazir and Lyndon followed him, both of them dismayingly slower than they wanted to. Lyndon actually had to drag Hazir along, as the scholar was not cut out for such physical demand, and he did blow most of his energy on Maluus back in the courtyard.

\- We are going to die! – Hazir cried as he tried his damnest to keep up.

\- No, we aren't! We have made it this far, I refuse to have us die to this asshole! – Lyndon shouted, anger giving him a bit of a boost.

He could tolerate a lot of things, he really did! But then comes this **_bastard_** and starts flinging accusations and phrases that don't even make sense at him, saying he stole something?! What the hell would Lyndon take away from this dumpster pile, honestly?! They didn't even disturb the offerings, not that they really had the time to do so back there. That didn't matter now, anyway, because Clayman's tantrum smashed most of the treasure to dust. Lyndon absolutely **refused** to die to this jerk who was supposed to be long dead anyway!

He still had to meet up with Quiet and Tyrael later! Not only that, but Captain Haile's words rang in his head:

 _"_ _Strangle the answers out of someone. Read into it or something, I don't know, damnit! It's gonna cost your bloody life otherwise."_

Bul-Kathos knew something Lyndon didn't, even if his incoherent screeching was impossible to follow. The scoundrel had to take this chance.

While Lyndon was focusing on this rage to get them through this, they tore across the pointless middle bridge and reached the courtyard. Bul-Kathos was nowhere to be seen, but the scoundrel's continuously alarmed sixth sense told him it wouldn't be this easy.

Hazir tripped on some hidden stone, and he dragged Lyndon down with him. The two of them stumbled over the snow and ice before stopping.

\- Sorry—hah—I can't—I can't… - Hazir was struggling to breathe, he couldn't push himself up from the ground.

\- Luther, over here! – Lyndon called out to the goblin who stopped some meters away.

\- _Hae!_

\- Listen carefully! Take Hazir and Malthael and run for it, alright?! This asshole wants me only, he will leave you three alone – Lyndon hurried as he helped the angel off of the goblin's back.

\- _He is going to kill you_ – Malthael commented weakly, barely standing on his feet.

\- We'll see about that – Lyndon glanced down at the strange letter opener tucked in his belt.

\- _NA-AA!_ – snapped Luther angrily at him, shaking his head adamantly.

\- Luther, please! None of you are going to make it otherwise! You are the only one who can still cover large distances – the scoundrel answered in equal volume.

\- _NA-AA!_

\- Luther!

The ground was shaking madly at this point. From a nearby chasm, Bul-Kathos burst out with a mighty roar, spraying rocks and ground everywhere. Hazir screamed in fear, but his voice was drowned out by an independent pillar of earth that rose right next to the giant, decking him straight in the face.

 ** _Greetings, Guardian. Good to finally meet you_** , came a voice from the earth itself seemingly, much calmer and different than Ytar's royal and commanding tone.

 _Thank you for the aid… uhm?_ Lyndon quickly thought but stumbled on the name.

 ** _Zaim, God of Mountains. Fear not, I can cover for you for a bit longer than Ytar could. The others are on their way as well. It is time to escape, Guardian!_**

\- Luther! Take them and go! Please! – Lyndon shouted at the goblin.

Luther glared at him angrily, pointing at his own eyes with two fingers than at Lyndon. He then grabbed Malthael and the still crouching Hazir and hauled them along. The scoundrel let out a shaky breath before yanking the letter opener out of his belt and turning around on his heels. He was aware of the fact that he probably looked ridiculous like that, but it honestly did not bother him at this point.

 ** _Guardian? I told you to run!_**

 _Well, Zaim. I am staying! And I am beating some answers out of this bastard right here!_

 ** _That is ill-advised_** , mumbled Zaim surprisingly calmly, while he toppled Bul-Kathos over yet again with a well-aimed whack to the side from his earth pillar.

 _You said the other gods are on their way. We can take him!_ Lyndon thought frantically as he took off running, straight at the wobbly ground giant.

 ** _Being on the way does not mean they can help greatly, or for long, or at all! We are bound, Guardian, we—_**

 _Just_ _ **please**_ _focus on testing those bounds for as long as you can. I have to do this!_

 ** _Well, Ytar did tell us you are very determined. Not sure what I was expecting_** , Zaim sighed and renewed his assault.

Lyndon charged at Bul-Kathos with everything his rage could muster. With his mind he reached out to Slipka's letter opener, searching for that hidden power from before. It was still there and it eagerly answered his call. It had to be the very same power Slipka must have used in his story, the scoundrel realized.

Zaim created a few steps of stairs in front of him. Lyndon ran onto them and leaped into the air from the highest one, straight at the confused giant. He slashed in the air, focusing on the chest of the enemy. Once again he disappeared from sight and flew in a hundred different directions. When landing on the frozen ground a second later, he rolled over his head and turned around to observe the result.

Bul-Kathos was shouting unintelligible curses as he struck against the pillar. His neck and shoulders were covered with green cuts on all sides, a bit above the intended mark. Lyndon readied his new superweapon and slashed with it, focusing on the head of the giant…

And fell face first into the snow because he did this with just a bit too much momentum.

Lyndon yanked his head out of the ground, spitting mud and snow everywhere. Unable to understand what just happened, he reached out to the blade, only to find its amazing power retreated and closed up. It needed time to recharge, and until then Slipka's letter opener was just that: a blunt letter opener.

\- Oh son of a _bitch_ – Lyndon breathed as dread flooded him.

He frantically grabbed his crossbow on his back but the next second he had to blink out of the way of another stray punch.

He landed some meters away with a loud _huff_. His body was losing its energy gained from the initial rage, his muscles strained from the unfamiliar demand, and once again, he was left without a reliable melee weapon.

 ** _That's it! I am taking you away, Guardian! Hold still_** , announced Zaim in a no-nonsense tone in his head.

While the earth-pillar kept whacking Bul-Kathos left and right, another part of the frozen ground wrapped itself around Lyndon's ankle and began pulling him under.

The sight of the giant's fingers closing in on around him burst into his mind, and Lyndon screamed from fear. He teleported in his panic, slipping out of the mountain god's grip, and landed closer to the enemy. The next second Bul-Kathos' fist came crushing down a hair's length away from him, a hit that was meant for the earth pillar but missed the target.

The shockwave rattled Lyndon to his core and sent him flying across the courtyard, rolling onto some mostly intact pavement stones.

 ** _Guardian! Guardian!_** Zaim shouted in alarm.

The earth-pillar whacked the enemy one more time but then it crumbled, and Zaim started to lose his connection. Lyndon remained motionless on the pavement, head ringing like a bronze bell, his muscles screaming in protest. He was still conscious, but couldn't really follow the events. He felt like his head would blow up any second, his veins would pop and his back would break in two.

 ** _Inna! Ymil! Anyone! Do something!_** Zaim shrieked, voice growing rapidly distant as he was thrust back into his plane of existence.

\- **I REMEMBER YOU, MADE-UP GODS** – rumbled Bul-Kathos slowly, regaining his bearings. – **I SEE NOW JUST HOW FICKLE YOUR ALLIANCE IS.**

Zaim screamed something at the giant, but his words were no longer understandable. Lyndon pushed himself up from the stone slightly, turning around to look at his foe. A thin geyser of water erupted from the earth, spraying the giant in the shoulder. A desperate shout accompanying the phenomenon told Lyndon it was probably yet another Sahptev god. However, neither did the deity introduce themselves, nor did their effort do anything of significance. Bul-Kathos merely shook himself slightly and continued to ignore the attack.

\- **YOU ALREADY RAN OUT OF TRICKS, CLEAR-SEER? YOU ARE A DISAPPOINTMENT EVEN TO YOUR OWN KIND** – he cackled.

\- If you are truly the forefather of the Barbarians – coughed Lyndon as he struggled to one knee –, then _you_ are the one bringing shame to _your_ kind!

 **\- SILENCE, GNAT!**

\- What true warrior attacks an unsuspecting opponent and does not even give them the opportunity to prepare themselves?!

 **\- I SAID** ** _SILENCE_** **!**

\- You don't even want to hear my defense! You accuse me of actions I did not do! – shouted Lyndon as loudly as his tired body allowed it. – You just ambushed me and my friends like a lowly demon!

\- **YOUR COMPLETE IGNORANCE IS THE PERFECT CASE FOR YOUR UNWORTHINESS** – Bul-Kathos raised a fist, aiming at the immobilized scoundrel. – **I WILL DO THE WHOLE WORLD A FAVOR BY KILLING YOU, USURPER.**

\- _NA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!_ – shrieked a new voice from somewhere the main entrance of the fort.

From the wide archway, Luther burst out onto the courtyard… carrying an entire demonic catapult above his head. The broken but massive device brought most of the door with it, but it did not slow down the treasure goblin who ran at Bul-Kathos like an absolute madman.

\- **_WHAT?!_** – the giant reared back, only to get decked in the face by the machine of war that had sailed across the air in a majestic arc.

\- Luther! – Lyndon shouted but his voice was drowned out by the loud crash.

\- _FFFRIEND!_ – the goblin performed a hard turn and raced to him, already rummaging in his sack for something.

\- Where did you get that—you found it around the fortress?! – Lyndon snapped his head between the struggling giant with the catapult's arm stabbed through his head, and his sudden savior stopping just before him.

\- _Ffriend!_ – announced Luther firmly then yanked a small bottle of red liquid out of his bag.

He jammed it against the scoundrel's chest, shattering it in the process. Instead of the sting of broken glass, however, cool healing magic flooded Lyndon's entire body. His headache lessened and his muscles regained some of their strength. He could finally stand up.

\- Luther, what— – Lyndon stared down at his now red-colored coat.

\- FALL BEFORE US, VILE GIANT! – roared Abd al-Hazir from somewhere above.

He and Malthael raced across the battlements to get as close to Bul-Kathos as possible. They both had red smears on their chests, a clear testament of Luther's rapid medical treatment. Hazir prepared a familiar codex, then the weirdest thing happened: just as they jumped onto an inner bastion's roof, Malthael grabbed Hazir by his left hand then spun around with all of his might, carrying themselves closer to the edge. Using the built-up momentum after a completed spin, Hazir threw the book with all of his might, straight at Bul-Kathos. With this technique, the book actually managed to span the great distance. Obeying the shouts of the Archivist, it burst into a Lorenado mid-air and sailed straight into their enemy.

\- You guys are the best – Lyndon whispered in sheer disbelief.

\- _Ffriend!_ – Luther jammed a shiny dagger into his hand.

It had no inner magic hidden inside it, but Lyndon was slowly realizing what he was capable of doing. He concentrated on the weapon, pouring his weird Nephalem-power into it. The blade glowed green, and Lyndon knew it would cut through anything he so desired.

\- Thank you, Luther – he nodded in gratitude at his friend.

Hazir descended next to them with his Flutter Tome, Malthael dangling from the book as well. The goblin had already equipped the angel with a proper ice wand (which had suspiciously golden-white coloring and angelic symbols), now tucked in his simple belt. He still had the burn mark on his side and the hole in his robes, but the potion Luther threw at him somehow worked and he was in a slightly better shape than he had been against Maluus.

\- _I am growing_ _ **really**_ _tired of your world, Lyndon_ – he mumbled, eyeing Bul-Kathos. – _Enemies around every corner._

\- Do you believe we **like** it? – Hazir gawked at his companion.

\- Guys, focus! – Lyndon snapped, taking up a fighting stance.

The four unlikely heroes lined up, weapons held ready. Bul-Kathos finally rid himself of the clingy demonic catapult and threw it down, shattering it to pieces. He rose out of his abyss where the Lorenado thrusted him back.

\- **YOU WISH TO STAND AGAINST THE MIGHTY BUL-KATHOS?** – he thundered. – **THEN COME, WEAKLINGS!**

\- The mighty Bul-Kathos had a hard time fighting off an _object_ just now! – Lyndon called out sarcastically.

 ** _\- WHAT?!_**

\- _I wish you'd stop doing that that_ – Malthael grumbled behind him.

\- An angry enemy is easier to beat – Lyndon answered.

 _\- Like it had been with Maluus, correct?_

\- You two are very good at raising morale, aren't you – Hazir offered a weak comment from the side.

\- _Hae!_ – Luther nodded.

\- **I WILL GRIND YOU TO DUST FOR THAT!** – Bul-Kathos punched the ground before him as a challenge, leaving a sizeable crater.

\- Alright, everyone! Let's bring down this bastard! – Lyndon announced in a strong voice.

Something moved in the air around them, barely noticeable mirages of figures.

\- After all, the gods are with us – the scoundrel added, smiling slightly.

The ragtag group charged the mighty giant.

Bul-Kathos swung his left arm in a wide arc. Hazir, Malthael and Luther threw themselves on the ground and skidded across the snow, while Lyndon blinked on the arm and slashed at the wrist. The cut went almost halfway through the limb, rendering the hand effectively useless and dangling. The scoundrel began running on the arm towards the shoulder.

On the ground, Luther grabbed the broken arm of the demonic catapult and wielded it like a club. Malthael shot an ice blast, slipping but somehow keeping his footing. Hazir threw down a Letter Cannon before he grabbed his trusty Mighty Pen and charged into the fray.

Bul-Kathos roared at the opposition. He strongly jerked his left arm, almost throwing off Lyndon, who held on for dear life, while with his right hand he retaliated. Instead of punching, however, he gestured wildly, and suddenly an enormous ghostly battle hammer melted into existence and flew straight at the group.

\- SCATTER! – Lyndon screamed at his friends.

Instead of doing just that, Hazir panicked and threw himself straight into the path of the attack, holding his Mighty Pen above his head.

The weapon came crushing down… and rattled Bul-Kathos to his very core so hard the giant fell silent for a brief second. The head of the hammer never reached the ground, instead it was stopped by the Mighty Pen held high by Hazir. The Archivist had his eyes screwed shut and his body trembling. Next to him on the ground, Malthael and Luther stared at the looming mass in utter disbelief. Eventually, Hazir risked cracking an eye open just as the hammer slowly disintegrated.

\- _I stand corrected in regards of the Mighty Pen_ – Malthael found his voice as well.

Not even the Barbarian Forefather could recollect himself fast enough:

 **\- WHAT?! THIS IS COMPLETE BULL—!**

 _WHACK!_

Luther swung his own catapult arm, straight into the face of Bul-Kathos, cutting his speech short.

Lyndon let out a shaky breath, muttering a half-curse, half-blessing at Hazir as he climbed onto the shoulder. He slashed at the lumps of ground, trying to deal some damage to the inanimate material. Bul-Kathos strongly jerked his shoulder, sending him flying. The scoundrel had no time to cry out when something, or maybe someone, got behind him and stopped his fall. The strange push of wind flung him onto the wide back of the enemy. Glancing back, Lyndon could have sworn he saw the mirage of a strange bird-human hybrid, wearing feathers, leaves and bones as ornaments. It could not have been a Sahptev god, yet it was also most certainly not a demon, and it disappeared just as quickly as it came.

\- If I survive this, I'll have to read up on all the gods – the scoundrel grumbled to himself.

Bul-Kathos kept shaking himself, but Lyndon held on firmly now, even if he couldn't ascend. The giant drummed on the ground, which caused shockwaves and an entire earthquake around him. Malthael retreated in a big hurry, occasionally managing to force an ice blast out of his wand. Luther was bouncing all around, helplessly tossed into the air by the ground. Hazir was caught in a shockwave and flew backwards. The Archivist landed into a promptly forming ball of water in mid-air, which quickly spat him out and sucked back whatever droplets it could, leaving the stunned human dry, as if the whole thing never happened. Nex to him, a Sahptev god waved as a "you're welcome" gesture.

A ghostly spear with a chain attached to its peak shot forward from next to the earth giant, straight at Malthael. The angel sprung like a cat, twisting himself around with great agility, which probably surprised even him, and dodged the weapon by a hair's length. He could not stick the landing, though, and fell face-first into the snow, scrambling to get up as fast as possible.

\- **YOU ARE NOT EVEN PROPER WARRIORS! LOOK AT YOUR FUMBLING!** – the Barbarian Forefather scoffed at his opponents.

The earthquake stopped, leaving behind a terribly pissed off Luther. The treasure goblin peeled himself off of the ground, his glare could probably set anything on fire. However, before he could do something he would have regretted a second later, the air filled with ozone and a flash of lightning struck the ground right next to the giant. It left everyone half-blind and with ringing heads for a good second or two, and Lyndon could have sworn he heard distant screeching in his head. It involved sentences like "Not the lightning, you idiot! You can't even aim!", "What if you had hit the Guardian or his friends?!", "Who the hell invited Zato, seriously?!", and "At least **I** am doing something, Inna!".

\- GUYS, FOCUS! AND DON'T KILL US, PLEASE! – he roared at the sky.

Hazir set up another Letter Cannon, but it was cut short when he had to dive from the fist that came crushing down onto the pesky book.

\- That contained my copies of Horadric texts, you soulless beast! – the Archivist cried out in despair.

Realizing he could do nothing of substance while dangling from the back of the giant, Lyndon teleported down to his group, missing the mark of _course_ , and ending up next to Malthael. In the meantime, a plantlife god grew weak roots and vines out of the frozen ground to restrain Bul-Kathos. The weeds were sickly and weak in this climate but they did buy the mortals some time to regroup.

\- _Your world is just the worst_ – the angel grumbled, still wiping off mud and snow from his tunic.

\- Yes, it has its jerks. You are not helping matters, either.

 _\- There is no helping this._

Luther and Hazir ran there as well, former covered in mud and snow from the earthquake he got caught in, but otherwise looking fine.

\- Now what? – the Archivist asked, slightly panicking.

\- Uhm… projectiles? Putting some distance between us and him might make things easier – Lyndon pulled out his crossbow finally.

\- _You stole that from the High Heavens_ – Malthael eyes the weapon disapprovingly.

\- The hell do you care, you sent your own men against your home! – Lyndon barked back. – Besides, it was a gift from Luther, I did not steal it.

\- _Hae!_ – the treasure goblin straightened out with pride at the accomplishment, before diving into his sack to look for a ranged weapon.

\- **_Scavengers_** _, the lot of you_ – Malthael grumbled, but flung an ice beam at the recovering giant.

The group began their bombardment. Lyndon shot light bolt after light bolt into the target, faster than any crossbow or bow could manage. Malthael used his wand to somehow force his unstable powers to work to an extent, still some of his attacks missed Bul-Kathos spectacularly. This obviously irritated the angel. Luther dragged out a couple of sources and wands as well, and he was currently busy sending fire balls and ball lightning forward. Hazir remained behind them, he was rummaging in his bag, hopelessly muttering to himself:

\- I have something—I'm sure I have something…

\- **COWARDS! DAMNED COWARDS, ALL OF YOU! COME AND FIGHT LIKE REAL MEN!** – Bul-Kathos roared at them, mightily angered by the tactics.

There wasn't much he could do, however. The group was safely out of his reach and it appeared that even great Nephalem had to deal with spell cooldowns, as neither his hammer, nor his spear had made a comeback just yet. Those gods who could do anything at all, kept annoying him with weak attacks of all elements.

\- _We are not doing_ _ **anything**_ _to him!_ – Malthael hissed angrily at yet another missed bolt.

\- Death by a thousand cuts. Ever heard of it? – Lyndon retorted defiantly.

\- **YOU'LL NEED MORE THAN THAT TO BRING ME DOWN!** – the giant shouted, and suddenly summoned his spearhead.

The weapon flew at them with a screaming sound so fast, none of them had time to do anything, except stumbling back in a futile attempt at evasion.

\- PLEASE LET THIS WORK! – Hazir suddenly screamed and threw a thick stack of papers into the ground.

Literally, as the earth sucked up the papers. The next second a wall of text-covered titanic papers sprung up in front of them, shielding them from harm's way. The spearhead stabbed its way through the sudden obstacle but got stuck in it, and disintegrated.

\- Nice! – Lyndon stared at the Archivist behind them as the paper-wall slowly shredded itself into nothing.

\- I always had trouble summoning the Great Wall of Knowledge – Hazir actually blushed. – What can an emergency do, huh?

Bul-Kathos bellowed in sheer fury at the sight. Lyndon was beginning to hope that the giant would kill himself in his rage, maybe his head explodes or something. Granted, that would mean the loss of information, but at this point—

The giant's roar abruptly twisted into something absolutely _horrid_. The sheer power of the sound crushed the group into the ground without giving them time to even react, their minds threatening to tear itself apart. Malthael actually screamed and wriggled in agony next to them, his keen hearing making everything worse. The mirages of countless gods shattered and was swept away.

\- **YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!** – Bul-Kathos pointed at them with his right hand judgingly. – **MY PEOPLE HAVE MORE TO SAY ABOUT THAT!**

New shimmering figures began gathering in the courtyard. Lyndon forced himself up onto his knees to look at them. Barbarian ghosts, much like the ones who killed Maluus back in the throne room, were melting out of the air. The scoundrel could feel his blood freeze at the sight as more and more of the warriors appeared at the edges of his vision, closing in on them.

\- Are we—dead? – Hazir asked weakly from the ground, blood trickling from his mouth.

Malthael remained completely prone, either he just gave up completely, or was knocked out cold by the scream of the Forefather. Luther, although unable to get up, searched frantically in his bag for anything that could hurt the ghosts.

Lyndon somehow stood up. The Barbarians surrounded them completely at this point, there was no way out of their circle. The scoundrel took a few deep breaths, dread spreading in him.

\- Are you looking for me?! – he suddenly shouted, gesturing wildly at himself. – Come and take me then, warriors! Leave my friends untouched and I will face your judgement!

\- **YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO NEGOTIATE, WORM! NONE OF YOU LEAVES THIS PLACE ALIVE!** – answered Bul-Kathos almost gleefully.

His words sounded quite pointed and order-like, yet none of the gathered ghosts moved. They kept staring at the group of four, with weapons held very loosely in their hands. Confused silence settled onto the courtyard. Lyndon slowly turned around, locking eyes with the crowd.

\- I don't know what crime I have committed – he found his voice again, knowing fully well that only desperation fueled him at this point –, but kill me, if you must! The rest had done nothing wrong, however! They were dragged into this mess against their will! They are innocent! Leave them be, please!

\- **THESE SPINELESS COWARDS HAD STOLEN YOUR SACRED DUTY, MY PEOPLE! KILL THEM! REGAIN YOUR RIGHTFUL DESTINY!** – roared Bul-Kathos, making the four battered heroes flinch.

But yet again, nothing happened. The ghosts showed no sign of even hearing their Forefather, they kept their weapons by their sides or legs, none of them held a fighting stance. They most certainly did not make a move to regain their rightful destiny, whatever that meant.

The pause crept uncomfortably long.

\- **WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! KILL THEM!**

Lyndon did not dare to hope. But it honestly looked like the warriors were not agreeing with their god.

Suddenly the gathered army parted in a place and out came an orange-tainted ghost larger than the rest. He had full body armor, and a helm with impressive horns decorating it.

\- Kanai? – Lyndon blinked at the newcomer, recognizing him.

\- Guardian – the leader nodded his head towards him, his voice distant but still understandable.

\- **HE IS NO GUARDIAN** – spat Bul-Kathos behind them.

\- Yet he was chosen, Forefather. We should not go against such a decision, it is beyond our judgement – Kanai pointed out, his voice surprisingly calm and wise for a Barbarian.

\- Please, Kanai! I am sorry we had to lure the demon into your throne room, but we were at the end of our ropes – Lyndon hastily defended themselves. – Spare the others, and I promise I go without—

 **\- HE DOES NOT EVEN UNDERSTAND HIS DUTY. LOOK AT HIM!**

\- What the **_hell_** are you even talking about?! – Lyndon turned to Bul-Kathos in rage. – Guess what, asshole, no one handed me a letter or a manual about my "duties"! How does this even connect to the crimes I did not commit?!

\- _Someone was actually foolish enough to entrust you with anything?_ – Malthael spoke up weakly from the ground, sounding like he regained consciousness just to deliver this jab.

\- Thanks for that, you jerk – Lyndon glared down at him venomously, once again considering burying the angel alive.

\- Fear not for yourself or your friends, Guardian. We are not here to pass judgement – Kanai shook his horned head.

\- Then what—

 **\- KANAI, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR WITS?!**

\- I am not, Forefather. I just understand that we cannot change the decision, no matter how much it hurts our pride.

 **\- WE CAN IF IT'S A MERE MISTAKE! IT CLEARLY IS, JUST GAZE UPON THIS FOOL!**

\- Ho-oh, slow the **_hell_** down, everyone! – Lyndon shouted, grabbing his head and screwing his eyes shut in frustration. – Start from the goddamn beginning, _please_! Am I guilty or not?! What decision was even made about what?!

\- My apologies for all that has transpired here. You have done your job admirably so far, Guardian – Kanai admitted. – We admire that, even if it stings our warrior spirits. Once upon a time we had received clear instructions from the Ambassador of Light for our task, but you needed no such guidance so far, it seems. Clear-seers have always had keen instincts, afterall. You are no different.

\- I still have no idea what you are talking about – Lyndon glared daggers at Kanai. – All I have is a baby angel to look after! What does **that** have to do with you, and what the **hell** is a "Clear-seer"?!

\- You have a _what_?! – Hazir sat up abruptly, eyes wide.

\- **HE IS HOPELESS! I TOLD YOU SO!** – Bul-Kathos visibly rolled his eyes at this. How he managed that when his eyes were nothing but slits filled with yellow light was anyone's guess.

\- Why, Guardian, you are blessed with a most sacred task, indeed! – Kanai seemed to smile. – You are the protector of the Eye of Anu: the Worldstone itself.

* * *

 **Dun-dun-DUUUNNNNN! The twist EVERYONE saw coming is finally here! Whooo! Well, I never claimed I was writing a mystery novel. ;) Now to have some actual answers. Some, at least.**

 **This chapter was an utter BITCH to put together. Hoooly hell, there are certain things in writing that just break my wrist, and this fight scene was no different, if you can even call it that. GAH!**

 **But at least it's out now! Thank you cupcakes for your continued support and patience as I heroically and definitely not at all painfully pathetically fight my way through these obstacles.**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- Bul-Kathos the Earth Giant: Unlike most other of his kind, Bul-Kathos was not satisfied with creating the Barbarians, and he chained his soul to Mount Arreat, in order to help monitor and guard the Worldstone, taking up the form of an earth giant. Ages later he had a quick head-butt with the equally headstrong and dumbass Uldyssian Ul-Diomed, but neither came out victorious, since Rathma broke up the fight. And while Mount Arreat is now gone, the center of Barbarian culture and the first line of defense, Sescheron survived the cataclysm, leading me to believe that Bul-Kathos also remained on Sanctuary.

\- Bul-Kathos' magical attacks were based on skills of the Barbarian class from D3. These include Hammer of the Ancients, Earthquake, Whirlwind, Threatening Shout and Ancient Spear.

\- Slipka's Letter Opener: a legendary Scoundrel Token and a complete BITCH to find in-game. I have based its power on both of its description and the buff it provides for Lyndon:

 _"_ _Thieves have whispered for centuries of the Grand Vizier Slipka, who could use his letter opener to gut three men, pick two locks, and open the mail, all in the time it took most men to draw their clumsy daggers._

 _Equip on Follower: Reduce the cooldown of all Follower skills by 50%"_

\- Inna and Ymil: the other Sahptev gods known by name, outside of Zaim and Ytar. Inna is the Goddess of the Sky, an exceptionally beautiful goddess who offers her protection to exceptional people. Ymil is the god of Rivers (the one with the shitty weak water spray attack) who is said to be indecisive and capricious, as such very few monks choose him as a patron. He has at least one follower, though, called Zhota. The guy's probably a rebel at heart.

\- Demonic catapult: demons who failed one too many times get their souls ripped out and turned into actual catapult. They were used by Baal in Diablo2 to lay siege on Sescheron and later on Harrogath, until the hero destroyed them. To be fair, the broken machine you can actually find outside the main gates of Sescheron, is a demonic ballista from Act III and not a catapult, but I figured I'd rectify that helpful asset reuse and correct it to the "historically accurate" version.

\- Zato: my creation, a Xianshai god of Lightning and Thunder. He is also a terrible marksman.


	38. Chapter 38

**_Chapter 38_**

Lyndon most certainly did not remember fainting. But he apparently did because he woke up in that strange pebble-mosaic room with the relief of the Immortal Throne, next to a burning fireplace, and he was **damn** sure he had been standing in the middle of the main courtyard a minute ago.

The scoundrel was given maybe three seconds to push himself slightly up from his makeshift bed with his elbows, before a pale, shimmering hand grabbed his collar and dragged him upwards.

\- **_You lied to me, spawn of Hell!_** – Malthael was leaning over him, his voice holding a dangerous edge.

\- What the hell is your problem?! – choked Lyndon, still disoriented.

 _\- You had the Worldstone_ _ **all this time! You kept it from me!**_

\- Let me go, you lunatic—!

\- Back off, Angel of Death – said a distant bit firm voice, and a ghostly double-bladed battle axe was pressed against Malthael's neck from behind.

The angel slowly obliged, having no other choice, really. Kanai stood in his place, weapon held steadily.

\- You may not harm the Guardian, Bringer of Decay. Or we shall make sure you can never be reborn – the Barbarian king said simply and evenly.

\- _You do not scare me, demonspawn. I_ _ **will**_ _have the Worldstone! I am its rightful bearer,_ _ **I have always been!**_ – hissed Malthael, his bland voice now full of anger.

\- I do wonder what the Eye has to say about that – Kanai lowered his weapon, once the angel retreated to a sufficient distance.

Lyndon adjusted his coat with a cough. He was lying on a low table covered in carpets and rags, his blanket was a thick coat of white yeti fur. He quickly sat up and donned it. Despite the fireplace burning, the room wasn't exactly warm. They seemed to be on the other end of the hall than they had been originally. The Immortal Throne's relief was barely visible in the semi-darkness. The pebble decorations on the floor formed a large arcane circle, while on the walls they spelled out runes of unknown origin.

\- I… I did not imagine that "Worldstone" thing then? The… thing you said – Lyndon asked weakly, blinking up at Kanai.

\- No, you did not. I apologize, Guardian. The day's events must have overwhelmed you, I should have considered that – Kanai strolled to the middle of the circle where a ghostly chair emerged for him to sit down.

\- I—Wait, where are the others?! – Lyndon realized as he looked around frantically in the room. – You didn't—!

\- Your scholar and goblin friends are safe, Guardian. My people are escorting them as far as they can from the fortress, to hunt for some game. They volunteered to do so. You all need food, but we cannot offer anything edible, unfortunately.

\- Oh thank the gods – Lyndon let out a shaky breath.

\- The gods, indeed – Kanai nodded, lost in thought. – I believe none on Sanctuary has ever witnessed such a gathering from them, nor such a brazen rebellion against their bonds. Their stubbornness is quite admirable. I can only thank them for helping you survive while I returned and called my people.

\- _There is only_ _ **one**_ _god: Anu. All these… creatures are just weak and foolish_ _ **imitations**_ – Malthael barked from the background.

He retreated into darkness that was barely touched by the fire's light, melting into the shadows like a wraith. It was difficult to spot him, but it looked like his robes lost their blue hue and were once again turning to pitch black.

\- On Sanctuary, things are vastly different, angel. You'd do well to remember that – Kanai seemed to frown in his direction, even though his strange helmet did not leave much room for expressions.

\- Kanai… why are you here? Don't Barbarian's souls leave this world, like everyone else does? – Lyndon massaged his temples.

\- We used to, once. Our resting places had been on the Sacred Mountain. Without it, many of us linger. I had been… lucky, so to speak, that I was able to leave this plane before that happened. Yet my spirit shares a bond with the Immortal Throne, so I used it to find my way back in here – Kanai waved tiredly. – As for why I am here, the answer is most obvious. I had come to stop our Forefather from committing the worst mistake of his long life.

\- Your Forefather is an absolute asshole. No offense – Lyndon frowned.

\- Hah, we had to receive our headstrong and fearless nature from somewhere, Guardian! – Kanai snorted with humor. –Bul-Kathos is everything we are, our good and bad side as well. He is ready to sacrifice anything for his comrades and people, but discretion is not really his strong suit.

\- And he… wanted to kill me because the Worldstone _ditched_ him? Do I understand this correctly? – Lyndon recalled the unintelligible shoutings of the giant.

\- Quite spot on, for the short version anyway – Kanai nodded.

\- _The Worldstone had been destroyed by Tyrael's short-sightedness. How did it survive?!_ – Malthael demanded.

\- For someone who claims he has a bond with the Worldstone, you most certainly know little about it – Kanai mumbled, clearly annoyed. – Allow me to start from the beginning, Guardian. I wish to tell you everything I know.

\- I would love some straightforward answers, finally. Go ahead – Lyndon sighed, pulling his coat tighter around himself.

Kanai leaned a bit forward in his chair and waved his hand. To this, every symbol and picture the dark pebbles formed began shimmering with an ethereal orange light like embers. Instead of lighting up the place, however, the darkness suddenly grew ominously deep, almost strangling the fireplace behind Lyndon. Only the symbols and Kanai provided any sort of light now.

\- You may know of the beginnings, Guardian – began Kanai, gesturing at one of the walls. – Of how Sanctuary had been created by Inarius, brother of Archangel Tyrael, and the Worldstone in order to escape the accursed Eternal Conflict. His mate, Lilith, daughter of Mephisto, and their followers provided guidance and strength for the feat, and eventually our world formed into existence, filled with wonders no other corner of Creation could claim.

To his words, the shining pebbles suddenly moved. No longer stones but dots of light, they swarmed on the wall and the floor, rearranging into pictures: a tall figure with huge wings and flowing hair raising his hands towards a giant gemstone that looked like frozen flames. Around those two, the lights slowly formed water, mountains, trees, and animals.

\- What you may not know is that Inarius had bound his soul to the Worldstone, merging with it for ages. Then… peace was shattered, Lilith betrayed him, killed all their followers. Inarius was forced to banish her as well, sentencing himself to a life of isolation. In order to keep Sanctuary safe, he could think of only one solution: he bid the Worldstone to slowly oppress the Nephalem's power, causing each generation to be weaker than the forefathers. This is how we humans came to be eventually. The Worldstone used this power to form an even stronger and thicker veil around Sanctuary. Inarius' son, Rathma however turned the Nephalem against his father in his rage at the decision. The rebellion was eventually put down, with Rathma gone, many dead, and dangerous beasts roaming the land which were created to protect Inarius. Some of those would give birth to generations of the horrible predators that now live on Sanctuary. Our Forefather too had to grapple with a monster called the Hydra for survival.

The dots rearranged themselves into a hideous demoness slaughtering fleeing couples, then the Worldstone with some sort of stream drifting into it, then to very human-looking creatures banding together against Inarius. Monsters rose, most Lyndon could recognize from old stories he heard as a kid. And the aftermath: corpses everywhere, with Inarius fleeing in the distance.

\- The Worldstone had been kept inside Mount Arreat, as you know. Bul-Kathos and some of his generation still alive slowly realized that despite the curse it was placing upon their descendants, the Eye was also the only thing that kept them safe from the angels and demons. So Bul-Kathos and his brother, Fiacla-Géar vowed to take it upon themselves to guard it. They both created nations, the Barbarians and the Druids, the former to be the wall around the mountain, and the latter to be the eyes and ears of Sanctuary. Guarding the Worldstone had been our sacred duty for ages upon ages, Guardian.

\- So… Bul-Kathos chose to be an earth giant to hang around? – Lyndon risked this question.

\- Yes, indeed. He had chained his soul to Mount Arreat and to the Immortal Throne, to stay alive and keep his vigil. You may understand him a bit better now – Kanai smiled slightly.

\- He's still an asshole.

\- True. Our Forefather is not the most sophisticated of beings, I fully agree – the Barbarian chuckled.

Bul-Kathos formed in full glory from the lights, standing before Mount Arreat with the Barbarians much smaller around his feet. Then a completely new set of images took its place:

\- Inarius remained among the mortals, taking up a disguise. But due to humanity's meddling, smaller holes in the protective veil were found and demons had been summoned into our worlds. Before long, the Evils received news of Sanctuary's existence, and so they wished to take it for themselves. They created a fake religion called the Triune in their twisted image, hiding behind lies and slowly corrupting the followers. Inarius retaliated with his own church, the Cathedral of Light and him as the ever-young Prophet at its helm. This decades-long race for humanity's soul became known as the Sin War. Eventually, a mere farmer called Uldyssian Ul-Diomed rose up against both of them and with his reawakened Nephalem powers he destroyed them. His actions gained the attention of the Heavens as well, and eventually Tyrael found his way inside. The Archangel sought to cause a civil war and ruin Sanctuary from within, to make the work of the Angelic Host easier. He didn't succeed, and eventually the Angiris Council simply ordered a full-scale invasion, just as the demons did the same. Uldyssian who was fighting Inarius in that moment, did the impossible: he severed the angel's connection to the Worldstone, and repelled both the Hells and the Heavens by sacrificing himself in a magnificent explosion of raw power.

\- And the Angiris Council decided to spare us – Lyndon nodded, recalling some of the insane ramblings of Zoltun Kulle.

 _\- A wrong choice. I see that now_ – snorted Malthael with venom.

\- Go jump off a cliff then!

\- Inarius had been given to Mephisto as a bargain chip, in return for the Hells to keep their hands off of Sanctuary. As you can see, they did not keep their word, even though the angels have done so for all these eons. Inarius had been in the Hells ever since – Kanai finished his story.

\- Until I found him – Lyndon glanced at the ghost.

\- Yes.

There was a heavy pause. The scoundrel's eyes lingered on the slowly fading pictures, as darkness melted away and the pebbles rearranged themselves into their original place.

\- So Inarius was left all alone here on Sanctuary? No one was there for him? – he asked then, sinking into his coat.

He knew that feeling all too well: he had felt all alone in the world as well on the fateful day he had to flee from Kingsport while Edlin was dragged to prison. It had been the most horrible sense of isolation he had ever experienced, and not even Pandemonium's desolation could come close to it. If he had to be honest with himself, this was probably the main reason he became such a ladies' man: to escape it, even if for only a brief moment. To endure that for gods know how many centuries… Inarius could not have been sane by the end of it.

\- No. He was the only one. No angels or even demons to keep him company – Kanai shook his head.

\- _Serves the traitor right_ – Malthael said, once again somewhat visible in the semi-darkness.

\- And yet that isolation was **not** enough of a punishment?! You had to sell him to the demons as well?! – Lyndon snapped, his anger exploding.

 _\- His sins were immeasurable by the laws of the High Heavens. I personally feel his punishment could_ _ **never**_ _be enough._

\- I really do hope the Crystal Arch has a similar opinion about you, you ass!

Malthael's invisible gaze became sharp and filled with rage at this, but Lyndon was already turning his attention back to Kanai.

\- But why **me**? I am just a thief, one of millions of ordinary humans! – he asked, bewildered.

\- Do you truly believe that the Worldstone was really destroyed? That a power like that, with roots more ancient than the Crystal Arch itself, can be snuffed out so easily? – Kanai frowned, snorting in distaste. – Bah! That would be a **joke**. The Eye merely changed shape. For a few years it settled into Sanctuary, fractions of it living inside every human being. It eventually required a center, however, so it began searching. And found you, headed straight for the one being it ever shared its power with before.

\- Inarius. So… I was like a… channel for the Stone? – Lyndon slowly asked uncertainly, connecting the dots.

\- Yes. You too had carried a miniscule fraction of the Eye, and it used that to flow into Inarius through your touch. In the meantime it awakened your lingering Nephalem abilities, and destroyed Inarius' wounded and ravaged being, but kept his very core intact.

\- The light-dumpling thing?

\- Beg your pardon? – Kanai seemed to freeze at the mental image.

\- Nothing, please go on.

-… Now Inarius and the Worldstone are one and the same, the Allfather to all of Sanctuary. They are slowly maturing together, drawing power and knowledge from this new life. And they… or rather, _he_ has chosen you as his Guardian and Teacher. It is a great honor no other living being in Creation can claim!

Lyndon fell awfully silent as he allowed the information to sink in.

He was looking after the Creator of the Sanctuary. He was babysitting an actual god.

\- _This_ _ **cannot**_ _be!_ – Malthael breathed in sheer disbelief.

\- I… need to lie down a bit – Lyndon stated weakly before falling back onto his bed with a _thud_.

oooOOOooo

\- Guardian? Are you feeling better? – Kanai asked helpfully.

\- I am the babysitter of a literal **god** , Kanai. I don't know **what** to feel anymore – Lyndon answered weakly, munching on a roasted piece of meat with little appetite.

He had once again fainted from the news, and only came to by the time Hazir and Luther had returned with a deer and they started roasting it. The scholar was quickly caught up with the absolutely necessary information (which was already too much in Lyndon's opinion). Now he was deadly silent, eating his dinner but clearly soaking up anything and everything that was happening around him.

The future book already forming in his head was almost physically visible.

Malthael remained where he had been, with a strange change. It honestly looked like he couldn't decide what to be: the right half of his clothing was the usual dark blue with the sleeve turning to white at the end, the left however was pitch black and ragged.

\- Surely, you are joyous at the revelation! It is the greatest of honors, afterall – Kanai pressed on.

\- Don't want to talk about it – Lyndon sighed.

\- Guardian…

\- I **said** I don't want to talk about it, Kanai! _Please_! – the scoundrel snapped loudly. – Something else, **anything** else! What is a "clear-looker", for example?

\- Clear- _seer_ – Kanai gently corrected him, backing off for the moment. – A kind of Nephalem, actually. They were known for their lesser physical strength -by Nephalem standards, anyway-, but they had the clearest senses out of all. Some were even known to have foresight, short-term or long-term.

\- Shit, I have both – Lyndon exhaled through his nose in defeat.

He remembered his strange dreams, the barely understandable one that told him about Corvus, Malthael and Bul-Kathos, and the other one when he could have sworn he saw Quiet crawling through somewhere, even though he had never seen other people's future before.

Maybe the Worldstone wanted him to see it? Or he had a bond with it?

Lyndon quickly perished the thought. He was just not strong enough to face the fact that his beloved little firefly was a mountain-sized, world-creating ruby stone stuffed into an angelic body.

He just couldn't do it.

\- That is a most fortunate heritage then – Kanai smiled slightly. – Clear-seers also had the ability to bring out an object's greatest potential. Be it magical, or physical, they can make even a blunt rusty sword work like it had been kept well. Your kind quite literally **sees** the potential in everything, and they are very resourceful. That is why you are such a great thief and improviser.

\- And… the teleporting and color-changing?

\- Those seem to be offshoots from different Nephalem blood, Guardian. There had been a huge number of families with varied lineage. Eventually they began to mix, especially when their powers were fading and receding. Nowadays most humans would have very opposing abilities that would actively work against each other, should they be reawakened. You are most fortunate indeed to have such a heritage that fits well together. Perhaps this also was a reason for the Worldstone to—

\- Stop! – Lyndon barked angrily, taking a bite out of his meat.

\- How do you know all this, King Kanai? – Abd al-Hazir suddenly spoke up from his chair. – You have died only twenty years ago, surely you weren't around during the age of the Ancients!

\- No, I wasn't, that is true – the ghost nodded patiently. –What I have told you came from two major sources: from my mentor in the Council of Elders, and from my time in the Afterlife. Bul-Kathos believed that for us to effectively do our sacred duty, we must know its origins. Hence he told us the story, and since then our Elders made certain we do not forget. The rest is… well, when you are in the Afterlife, you see the world and its events in a completely different way.

\- What is the Afterlife like? – Hazir's eyes gleamed with even more intense light.

\- Well, it is really not—

The strangest thing happened: Kanai's words became unintelligible. He was still clearly talking undisturbed, but his speech melted together into an incoherent mess.

\- Do you understand me? – he suddenly asked with perfect clarity when he saw the blank stare everyone was giving him.

\- Uhm… no? – Lyndon blinked.

\- Not a single word – Hazir stated, crestfallen.

\- Hm… it appears the living are not meant to know what awaits beyond – Kanai mused loudly. – My apologies, but I cannot answer your question, it seems.

\- That would have been a breakthrough in chronicling, truly – Hazir sighed, making peace with the lost opportunity.

\- Even the greatest of scholars must know their limit, wise one. There are things in Creation no one meant to know – Kanai smiled apologetically at him.

\- _Where is the Worldstone now, apparition?_ – Malthael spoke up impatiently.

\- You stay the hell away from him, you freak! You called him an abomination and wrote him off as nothing! – Lyndon glared daggers at the angel.

\- _If I knew what you were hiding among your memories, I would have_ _ **strangled**_ _the answer out of you long by now,_ _ **hellspawn**_ _._

\- Just **_try_** , I fucking dare you! I am so sick of your shit, Malthael! – Lyndon shouted, springing to his feet. –You have been nothing but a baggage of useless waste this whole time!

 ** _\- I saved your life, ungrateful gnat!_**

\- Like that's gonna make everything right! You—

\- _Fffriends!_ – Luther cried out, throwing himself between the angel and the scoundrel.

\- Friends, stop, please! – Hazir too stood up, uncertain of what to do exactly.

\- This bastard had tried to **kill** you, Abd! How can you be okay with that?! – Lyndon glared at the scholar with green eyes, making him shrink away.

\- B—but he helped a—against the Unclean and— – the Archivist stammered meekly.

\- The fucker killed thousands of people almost a year ago!

\- _Ffriends!_

\- ENOUGH, ALL OF YOU! – bellowed Kanai, standing up from his chair.

He slammed the butt of his battle axe into the floor so hard the whole room shook violently. The bickering stopped and Lyndon fell back onto his bed with a loud huff.

\- Are you even _listening_ to yourselves, heroes?! – the ghost thundered, voice suddenly harsh and demanding. – You have survived countless dangers in this death trap our beloved fort had turned into, _because_ you were working together! _Because_ you were supporting each other, and did not leave anyone behind when danger closed in on you!

To his words, the pebbles actually shifted around once more, playing out the scenes: the fight against the Unclean, the Khazra, Maluus, and finally Bul-Kathos. It was almost surreal, watching something they lived through be presented this way.

\- You have risked your lives to stop a demon from getting out into the world and bring death upon the innocent! You even faced our Forefather bravely, refusing to take his abuse and to leave one of yours behind. Why are you bickering now?! You are a great team!

Lyndon glanced at Malthael, eyes still shining with anger.

\- Sorry for shouting – he then mumbled to Hazir.

\- It's okay – the scholar waved the apology away weakly, still recovering.

\- _Ffriends?_ – Luther retreated from the center as well.

\- Everything's fine, Luther – Lyndon sighed.

\- You even managed to work together with a **treasure goblin**. I am certain that is a first in the history of Creation itself – Kanai seemed to frown at all of them. – Do not lose sight of your team work now!

\- Please don't tell me we still have to fight something! It's a miracle we caught this deer! – Hazir cried out, gesturing at the half eaten roasted game.

\- Be still, there is no threat now, at least not that I am aware of, wise one. I cannot see the future, unfortunately, but I know there will be more hardships in the days to come, as it always is. And you are not warriors like us.

\- _You do not say, apparition_ – Malthael commented sourly.

\- I **meant** to say, _angel_ , is that you are not like the Barbarians. We are a great threat in large groups, but each of us learnt to fight alone as well. Some might say our greatest flaw is that perhaps we are too independent of each other at times – Kanai grimaced slightly, easing back into his chair. – But you are a different type of warriors. The kind who may be weak alone, but in a group you are a true threat and can easily prove to be indomitable. That is your strength, unlike in our case.

\- Maluus almost killed us all – Lyndon pointed out.

\- I have no doubt that should you all had sufficient strength and preparation, you would have easily dealt with the demon and the accursed Khazra. Even beaten as you had been, you managed to bring down the entire Ice Clan and lure the demon into a trap.

 _\- You give too much credit to these mortals._

\- And to you as well, disgraced one. Do not forget that.

 ** _\- What did you call me?!_**

\- Is it not the truth? – Kanai shrugged, already dropping the subject.

Lyndon slowly finished his meal. He felt no appetite, despite his stomach rumbling loudly for more. The pressure in him returned, an opposite feeling of wanting to deal with this sudden responsibility that was thrust upon him, and trying to ignore it longer. So it happened. It really happened. He was given a terrible burden, just because he was _different_ than the rest. His biggest fear became a reality afterall.

Lyndon quickly swallowed a bite, to stop himself from screaming in frustration and fear.

\- We should go – he spoke up, voice hoarser than he would have liked.

\- Y-yeah, we **really** overstayed our welcome – Hazir agreed.

 _\- Hae!_

Kanai stood up from his chair with a deep sigh.

\- I cannot hold you back, heroes. You have proven your worth more times than anyone could ask for. I apologize in the name of our Forefather – he bowed his head slightly.

\- It's alright… I mean, we survived, yes? – Hazir smiled half-heartedly, clearly eager to finally set out.

Lyndon remained mostly silent throughout the packing and until they reached the main bridge leading outside into the wilderness. He didn't even try to hide his distress from his face as he kept his eyes on the ground, hauling his backpack, crossbow and new furcoat along at the end of the group. He could feel Kanai's stare on his back, and it annoyed him to no end. The scoundrel was secretly hoping the ghost would not show them out, but no such luck.

At the main gate, Kanai finally broke the silence:

\- Guardian—

\- Don't want to hear it, Kanai – Lyndon quickly interrupted.

\- I understand you are distressed now…

\- That is why I don't want to hear it.

\- But you must listen, Clear-seer! – the ghost suddenly barred his way, glaring at him sternly despite his eyes not being visible at all.

\- What? – Lyndon barked, staring up at the Barbarian.

\- It can be an arduous trial to face who and what we truly are. I know that well. But keep in mind that nothing has truly changed with this revelation.

\- **Everything** has changed, Kanai. That's the whole fucking point! – Lyndon hissed at the ghost venomously.

\- Why did you seek answers then, if you are so afraid of them? – Kanai tilted his head to the side. – You could have escaped from our Forefather. Bul-Kathos is bound to Sescheron, he cannot leave, just like us.

\- An idiot friend told me to! I wish I didn't listen to him, though!

\- And yet everything remains the same, Guardian. The Eye… _Quiet_ still waits for you out there. He misses you.

\- Just shut the hell up, will ya! – Lyndon pushed past the ghost and stomped over to his group who were waiting at the end of the bridge.

Hazir was already preparing to read his Portalfolio, to lead them back to his book. He shot a quizzical look at Lyndon.

\- Heroes! – Kanai called out after them one last time. – Remember well: **together** you are strong!

With that, the Barbarian king slowly faded to nothing. Even Lyndon bid him farewell with a half-hearted wave of his hand. The scoundrel felt terrible about his behavior towards their savior, but try as he might, he could not drag himself out of the emotional quagmire he had found himself in.

\- Do you think he…? – Hazir asked uncertainly.

\- Returned to the Afterlife? Probably. Guess he deserves the rest – Lyndon sighed.

\- _Anu willing, I will never return to this miserable place_ – Malthael grumbled, already trudging towards the forest.

\- Hey wait! – Hazir rushed after him, along with the others.

They quickly found themselves among the tall pinetrees. The snow was lazily falling in large flakes around them, the air was standing still. Nothing moved, no animal could be heard. With any luck, they would make it to the Portalfolio with no problem. Lyndon could only hope after this mad adventure.

\- I still need to start reading my Portalfolio! – Hazir finally caught up with Malthael.

 _\- Then start reading, scholar._

\- Yes, well, I need to focus for that! And I can't do that if I am worried about y—

\- Need a ride, lads?

To this new voice, everyone turned around as one.

Behind them, out of nowhere stood a cart full of hay, pulled by a peaceful packbeast that blinked lazily at the dumbfounded group. On the cart sat an old man with an impressive grey beard, more wrinkles than on a canyon's wall, a wide boater that was pulled over his eyes, and clothes that were far, **far** too light for this weather.

That would have been fine and well, except that the cart had no tracks in the snow behind it, nor was it at all covered in snow, as if it had just appeared out of thin air.

Malthael immediately yanked the ice wand out of his belt:

 ** _\- Back off, fiend!_**

\- _HEEEEEE!_ – Luther joined in the threat by pulling out his favorite broadsword from his sack.

\- Wait, it's **you**?! – Lyndon cried out after a second of stunned silence.

\- Who? – Hazir glanced at him, slowly retreating behind everyone else.

\- Glad we could meet again, scoundrel – the old man grinned from ear to ear, showing off far too perfect teeth for a simple peasant.

\- You know him? Is he a spirit? – whispered Hazir.

\- You were the one who had taken me to Gea Kul months ago! – Lyndon glared at the old man. – Who the _hell_ are you?!

\- You seem pretty worse for the wear, lads. How about old Zei here giving you a ride to Westmarch, hm?

Silence settled onto the group.

\- Oh, son of a _bitch_ – Lyndon finally said.

* * *

 **Wheeeeee, looooooooooooooooooore! My favorite part of any story-writing ever! No wonder I have put this chapter together so fast. ;)**

 **And finally some answers! Lyndon really is a Nephalem, and now he has to deal with just the worst thing ever: Malthael's** ** _obsession_** **with the Worldstone. Let us say a prayer for him, cupcakes! So basically, Bul-Kathos was going through a** ** _really_** **rough breakup. You'll have to forgive him.**

 **Now that things have died down a bit, I may be able to upload more frequently. The ending of Act II is approaching, stay tuned, cupcakes!**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- The Hydra and other monsters of Sanctuary: personal headcanon. Sanctuary had been created to be a safe haven from conflict and dangers, so why does it have so many monsters and bloodthirsty predators roaming its lands? Enter the Nephalem rebellion against Inarius. Before that, Sanctuary had truly been a land of safety and prosperity. During the uprising, however, Inarius was forced to create mighty beasts as body guards and set them loose upon the world. One such monster, the Hydra was later killed by Bul-Kathos, if the item description of the _Serpent's Sparker_ is anything to go by.

\- Lyndon's Nephalem powers: it is time I finally talk about this. Two things have given me the idea to make our beloved scoundrel into an actual Nephalem. One was the fact with the right build, his damage can be the highest out of all the followers, nearing the player's damage even. Second, I have thought about how his in-game abilities (e.g. the cloaking-teleporting ability when his HP is low) can translate into an actual story setting, and it all led to these assortment of powers.  
I wanted to create a Nephalem who, while can be a great threat, is not **nearly** as powerful as the player character (or Uldyssian, for that matter), which is just ridiculous, if you think about it.

\- Mixed heritage Nephalem: personal headcanon. I have always found it strange how everyone who discovered his Nephalem powers had a completely well-working set of skills at his disposal. To me, it sounds very logical that most people would have incompatible powers due to the mixed heritage. The complete chaos from the blending of bloodlines would probably cause some headaches. It might even result in a specific elemental mage or warrior having an opposing element as his Nephalem heritage. Wouldn't that be frustrating?


	39. Chapter 39

**"** **Only" 8700 words, hehehe…**

 ** _Chapter 39_**

Ignoring a god sitting next to you on a magical hay cart was tricky business. But gods damnit, if Lyndon wasn't going to try.

They had climbed on board, having no other real option, Luther, Abd al-Hazir and Malthael quickly taking up the back, forcing Lyndon to the front. They swiftly fell asleep from exhaustion on the hay stack, the strangely warm air around the vehicle helping greatly with that. So now Lyndon was stuck alone with Zei, the scoundrel having no desire to sleep despite his tiredness. He was just too worked up for that.

\- You are quite the brooding champion, aren't you, scoundrel? – Zei snickered next to him. – Been doing the same thing since Gea Kul?

\- Aren't you the god to tell?! – Lyndon hissed back.

\- I am the god of thieves, travelers and trickery, not the god of emotional crybabies.

\- I wish I could strangle you, Zei.

\- And I wish you could pull yourself together like a functioning adult.

Lyndon had to grab the edge of his jacket to stop himself from lunging at the old man.

\- That is why you are here? – he sent a death glare instead. – To chew me out? What, stirring up shit by Johanna's side grew boring?

Zei actually fell silent at this, clutching his reins tighter.

\- Glad to see your sharp tongue is still intact – he mumbled. – But that one… is not me.

\- Stop the bullshit, _Shen_ , I had been there when we went after the jewel! I saw Liria. I saw the whole damn thing!

\- We gods aren't as straight forward as you are, scoundrel. You have only one body and one life and you waste it on brooding. We, however…

\- Are stuck in a conveniently limited state? Yes, yes you are – Lyndon nodded angrily.

\- Yes, please ignore half of the pantheons of Sanctuary who did everything in their power to save your suicidal butt when you threw yourself against Bul-Kathos like an idiot! – Zei scoffed at him.

\- You haven't answered my question yet, old hack!

\- Because you do not **let** me, scoundrel!

\- Because **you** keep making snarky remarks about things you have no business with!

Zei hid his face in his palm and took a deep breath to stop himself from further arguing.

\- Shen… is me. In a way.

\- Great, more nonsense – Lyndon rolled his eyes.

\- If you let me **finish** , **_scoundrel_**.

Lyndon theatrically and with no small amount of sarcasm gestured for him to continue. Zei needed another pause to regather his composure.

\- Shen is me, there is no doubt about that. You found me out, fair and square – he finally said. – But Dirgest had broken out of the jewel that was supposed to hold him for eternity, and while he has not regained his full strength yet, he had managed to ambush me and take control over _most_ of my being in that moment of weakness in those ruins.

\- So what, your shadow slipped away just to annoy me?

\- My shadow slipped away to **live** another day and somehow give aid to the fight against this _Johanna_ , no matter how small it may be – Zei waved dismissively. – The best I can do right now is to give some support to travelers on the road.

\- And to be an annoying jerk, I see.

\- Naturally, should they deserve it.

Lyndon snorted angrily and defiantly crossed his arms, tilting his head away.

\- You can throw whatever kind of hissy fit you wish, scoundrel. It does not change the fact that you are completely in the wrong here.

\- Oh really now?! Tell me, o _wise_ deity, what am I so wrong about, huh?!

\- You think that just because now you know exactly what the Allfather is, this suddenly changes everything and invalidates all that happened in the past.

\- Listen up, you—! – Lyndon shouted, grabbing the collar of the old man in his rage.

Except that his fingers passed through the god like he was a mirage. The scoundrel quickly yanked his hand back in shock, seeing it disappear into the body.

\- I told you I am but a shadow of my former self. You'd do well to listen, _boy_ – Zei glanced at him.

\- Cheating bastard – Lyndon spat venomously – You talk easily, old hack! You are not the one who suddenly realized that a single wrong move from his part could doom the entire world!

\- You may not know this, but your track record with the Allfather hasn't exactly been spotless up to this point – Zei snorted. – Yet the world still stands, we are still here, and the Allfather has a good heart despite everything. You cannot be perfect. Stop thinking that just because you are a Nephalem now.

\- Please, do tell this to everyone who expects a fucking **miracle** from me, will ya?! – Lyndon shouted angrily.

Hazir twitched behind them, but remained deeply asleep.

\- I find a random angel in the Burning Hells, I decide to show the most basic of human decency towards him, and suddenly I am protecting the creator of Sanctuary and everyone waits for me to save them from something – the scoundrel raged on, helplessly grabbing the edge of the cart so hard his knuckles turned white. – I am a **thief** , Zei, for fuck's sake! I am the scum of the streets from Kingsport! All I ever did was tag along with Johanna and occasionally helped out from the sidelines! Stop demanding a world saving brilliant plan from me!

-… Nobody is demanding anything from you, scoundrel – Zei frowned worryingly at him. – All the pressure you perceive is just an illusion your own brain conjured up, because you are _afraid_.

\- So what if I am? Wouldn't you be?!

Zei fell awfully silent at this as he stared before himself, beyond the wide shoulders of the packbeast. The heavy pause was only broken by Lyndon's labored breathing as he glared daggers at him.

\- I had been afraid, true – the god finally spoke up.

\- Don't you **dare** tell me you had been the personal body guard of Inarius!

\- No, not exactly. But there had been a day and age where things had been… quite similar to your situation.

\- As if!

There was yet another pause.

\- The legend you have heard isn't accurate. When… Dirgest had gone on his rampage due to my boneheaded actions, I had no choice – Zei began with a distant look in his eyes, clearly uncomfortable. – I went to our Allfather, _Inarius_ you call him, to plead for his aid in this mess. He had been furious with me, understandably, but he had agreed to help, with the condition that I would face my punishment after the danger had been averted. He had refashioned Liria's ruby into a prison and even helped me wear down Dirgest, so I could seal him away into the stone. Then… the Allfather sentenced me to a life among humans, not quite mortal but not quite a god either. And he made me take an oath to forever guard Dirgest' jewel and to keep humanity safe that way.

\- But you lost it somewhere down the line – Lyndon nodded broodingly.

Zei fell silent again, awkwardness practically radiating from him.

-… You did **not** lose it – the scoundrel's eyes grew wide. – You _voluntarily_ cast it off?!

\- Dirgest had been raging inside the jewel – the god continued softly. – He could not do anything to me, but sometimes I could hear his threats, his fury. I was terribly afraid of him, despite his cage. He told me that once he was out of his prison, he would make sure that every single one of his future victims would know **exactly** that I was to blame for the suffering that would befall them. I eventually began to feel like everyone was judging me, mortals and gods alike. That they looked at me strangely, as if expecting a miracle from me to contain this raging madman. I could not ask the Allfather again to give me advice, by that time he had been defeated and sold to the demons.

-… So you got rid of it – Lyndon said, sinking back into his fur coat in realization.

\- I felt like it was a burden I could not carry any more, because of all the expectations. Expectations that… never really existed. So I threw it away, I did, and for a short while, I felt liberated, even though I could not regain my full godly status. But Dirgest made sure that the jewel found its way into the hands of a mortal eventually and he began wreaking havoc that way. He had corrupted minds, shattered families, turned father on daughter, mother on son, sibling on sibling… It was a disaster. I had realized what I have done and I began my quest to regain the jewel, but it took centuries to get even close to it… and you saw how that turned out. The lives shattered along the way are without number, scoundrel.

\- But there **were** expectations placed upon you. You are just telling yourself that weren't any – Lyndon shook his head adamantly.

\- Our responsibility and the expectations of others we perceive quite often do not line up, scoundrel. When we are afraid, when we are full of doubt, our minds love to trick us.

\- But…!

\- My responsibility did not truly change because of Dirgest. The gods' task is to guide and keep humanity safe, more often than not from their own destruction. This had remained the same for me as well, only then I was supposed to provide by guarding another god that would have torn innocents asunder in his blind wrath. My belief that everyone knew of my burden, and that everyone was expecting a miracle from me… was simply a delusion born out of fear. All I should have done is ignore Dirgest, maybe even turn him into a joke. I had a great sense of humor once.

Lyndon fell silent at this, uncomfortably looking away. Zei suddenly shook himself to regain some of his insufferableness at least:

\- So tell me, scoundrel. How does a gem behave?

\- W—what?

\- How does a gem, especially a mountain-sized gem behave, you think?

\- I don't—

\- Is it like a child? Hanging on your every word, afraid of the dark, learning to behave and even talk properly?

-… No?

\- Then?

\- Then **what** , you old hack?!

\- You seem so afraid that Quiet suddenly turned into something you cannot understand or even affect.

Lyndon kept staring at Zei in frustration.

\- But he is the same, scoundrel. The same small child you were teaching words, stealth and basic ethics to. The same one you have read tales to so he could fall asleep at night. Why are you so scared then?

\- And if I fuck it up, like I did with **everything else** in my life? What then, Zei?! We will have an all-powerful, messed up god because of me! – the scoundrel snapped.

\- Do you still love him, scoundrel? – Zei turned to look into his eyes.

\- I had loved Rea once. Look how that turned out…

\- But she did not love you back, nor did she share such level of trust and family bond with you.

 _"_ _We family now? Leendonn Liyt—Lightwing. Quiet Lightwing."_

Lyndon lost his voice again. It sounded strange, that he had been reading bedtime stories to a mountain-sized creator gem; that he taught it how to talk and dress properly; how to introduce himself to strangers. But he really did all those things.

And the world was still standing, despite months passing.

\- Find him, Guardian. Quiet is **your** little firefly, and he needs you, now perhaps more than ever. You still know that in your heart, I am sure – Zei said surprisingly softly and full of understanding.

\- I… I don't know anymore – Lyndon sighed in defeat, losing every last bit of his anger. He just wanted to have a nice sleep finally.

\- Nobody is expecting you to be perfect, or to save the world with a brilliant plan, Guardian. All we ask is that you show our creator the same love and guidance you have been showing since the first moment you met him. The rest… shall come as it does – Zei finished.

Lyndon tried to say something, but exhaustion conquered him out of the blue, so he just leaned back on the cart and nodded off almost immediately.

oooOOOooo

 _"_ _We family now?"_

Lyndon woke with a start and sat up from his doss on the ground, holding Quiet close to his chest.

Wait… **_what_**?!

He looked down, only to see he was hugging his backpack. After a second of frozen confusion, he let out a sigh.

They were definitely in a forest that was not in the Dreadlands. The air was much warmer, the plantlife plentiful and green, and no wolves to tear them apart. The rays of the rising sun were slowly making their way among the branches. His companions were all sleeping peacefully on dosses in a circle around a neat fire. Lyndon couldn't recall making camp at all.

A soft gleam attracted his attention to the ground. Right next to him lied a strange gem in the grass with a note under it. It was around the size of his inner palm, chaste in the shape of a half sphere, shimmered like an amber and had a single white line like a reptile's eye dividing it in the middle, and four little silver pins as its four corners. The note under it simply read:

"Equip it onto your crossbow, Guardian. It will serve you well."

Lyndon numbly pulled out his weapon. He could not see a socket anywhere, still he tried to attach the gem to its tiller. Immediately there was a flash of light and the stone glued itself onto the surface, the silver pins drilling into the wood. A red wave ran through the entire crossbow, and the deed was done. Lyndon would have to check out the result later. He could only hope that Zei did not trick him.

The scoundrel put his crossbow away and pulled his knees up to his chest as he pondered. He felt well-rested, if a bit hungry, but his mind was still plagued by everything that had happened back in Sescheron. He had no idea how he could process all that and make peace with it.

A loud yawn drew his attention away for a second. Hazir was stretching on his doss, munching as he was struggling to wake up.

\- Oh, it has been a while since I last slept this well – he mumbled as he slowly pushed himself up with his elbows. – Oh… hi, Lyndon!

\- Good morning – the scoundrel nodded at him.

\- I had just the strangest dream ever! I dreamt a Xianshai god giving us a ride on his hay cart for some reason! – Hazir grinned at the memory, then looked around. – When did we make camp, by the way?

\- I don't recall. It was probably Zei's work after we all fell asleep – Lyndon shrugged.

\- Wait, so that really…?

\- Yes.

\- And the thing about the Worldstone…?

\- Also yes.

\- Oh.

Lyndon went back to rest his chin on his knees with a defeated sigh. Hazir sucked in the air sharply as he sat up as well. He was clearly torn about what to say, but apparently he could not remain silent for long:

\- So… how are you, Lyndon?

\- Terrible. I mask it this well?

\- No—yes… maybe?

\- I just… – Lyndon took a deep breath. – I am sorry, Abd, honestly. About having to lie to you about so many things, and… and shouting, and… just being an ass all around.

\- It is fine, truly – Hazir waved, as he began rummaging in his bag for some kind of food. – I cannot blame you. To be frank, I probably would not— **could** not have believed you in Corvus if you had told me that you were the Guardian of an angel. Not without hearing… all that back in the fort.

\- I have a hard time believing it too.

Hazir fell silent but the scoundrel could feel his gaze on him. A minute and some more rummaging later, a piece of beef jerky entered his field of vision. Hazir scuttled over to him and offered him a fine piece of his breakfast with a small smile. Lyndon eventually accepted it while trying (and failing) to return the gesture.

\- Listen, Lyn – Hazir drew back a little, before growing pale. – Oh, sorry, can I call you Lyn?! I am so sorry!

\- It's fine, Abd. We went through more shit these past two or three days than in most of our lives. I won't get offended over a nickname – Lyndon snickered weakly.

\- Alright, so… Lyn – the scholar swiftly gathered himself as he settled down. – I can't claim I know how you feel. I don't even know all the details about this whole mess, but I can see it is a big picture.

\- Yes?

\- What I do know is that—that you will need to sort this out in yourself soon, if you want to solve this problem – Hazir went on. – And… yes, I don't see the whole picture, but if you need a friend, or—or just a quiet place to think long and undisturbed, know that I am always there, alright? I can get you inside our Great Library no problem, truly. Or just give my point of view from the outside, or… anything, really.

Lyndon's weak smile slightly grew larger at this, if only a little.

\- Thanks, Abd – he answered hoarsely. – I appreciate it.

\- I would like to write a book about this one day, though – Hazir suddenly zoned out with a wishful look in his eyes.

\- Abd, seriously…

\- No, no, think about it! "The scoundrel, father of our Creator". Sounds impressive, no? An eye-catching title, truly!

Lyndon tried to argue and somehow drag the hopelessly dreaming scholar back to earth, but he got stuck on that one word.

Father…

 _"_ _We family now?"_

Damn, he was crying, he realized. Hazir noticed that too.

\- I'm so sorry! – he scrambled. – I didn't mean to upset you—

\- It's okay – Lyndon chuckled through his tears as he wiped them off. – I just… remembered. Quiet asked me once if we were family. I told him yes, we were…

\- He sounds like a lovely child – Hazir settled down as well. – A peculiar one, truly, but still a sweet child.

\- He… yes, he is. He has his short-comings, those are mostly my fault, I reckon – Lyndon nodded, sniffing. – But he is the kindest kid you will ever meet. I started out wanting to get him to the High Heavens as quickly as possible… now I—I miss him dearly. I really do, damnit.

\- Then… the question is already answered, isn't it? You want to find him again.

\- I guess I do. I'm just—afraid, I think – Lyndon let out a shaky breath.

\- Well, I think if you focus on how much you want to see him again, that may help you overcome your fear – Hazir thought aloud. – I mean, I can't blame you, realizing that you are caring not just for an angel, but for just the most powerful gemstone in the Universe as well—

\- Abd – Lyndon let out a long sigh, seeing his friend slowly getting lost in his own mind.

\- I still honestly cannot truly believe all that happened! I mean, not just this Worldstone thing, but also the Unclean, Sescheron, Bul-Kathos, Kanai—

\- Hazir.

\- I would have never thought one day you would become a father. Or that I would face off real human opponents and **win**! How surreal is that, truly! Also I actually made friends with an angel, that's—

\- _Would you all just_ _ **silence**_ _yourselves?! Preferably forever?_ – interrupted a low grunt, indicating that Malthael had been jolted out of his peaceful sleep.

\- I didn't know angels slept, Deadweight – Lyndon smirked.

\- _That is_ _ **not**_ _my name, hellspawn. And yes, of course we do. We just don't require it as often as you do_ – Malthael pushed himself up from the doss groggily. – _I needed to regenerate._

\- Of course you did, o Champion of Self-roasting – Lyndon snorted, recalling that blood-curling moment.

\- _There will come a day when I shall_ _ **punch**_ _you through a wall for these comments, demonspawn._

\- Love you too, man.

\- I… honestly have no idea how we pulled all that off back in Sescheron – Hazir commented from the side, considering the scene before him.

\- Me neither, if that helps – Lyndon nodded to him.

\- Kanai was onto something, though.

\- I doubt that.

\- _Na-aa!_ – Luther joined in, still half-asleep.

\- Treasure goblins and angels sleep – Hazir quickly wrote down into his notebook appearing out of literally nowhere. – Good to know.

 _\- Fffriendsss…_

\- We are here, Luther. It's okay – Lyndon smiled at the little demon.

\- _So now what, mortals?_ – Malthael slowly stood up, dusting off his still divided robes.

\- We should travel to Westmarch to fully restock and recover – Hazir suggested.

\- Should still be a couple of days from here with leisurely pace – Lyndon nodded, finishing his beef jerky. – After that… we shall see, I guess.

His estimate was far, _faaaaaar_ off, as it turned out.

After they had a modest breakfast and gathered their stuff, they set out to south-west, climbing over a larger hill at the edge of the forest. On the top, however, they had to stop in their shock.

Westmarch was there, a good three or so miles away, its dark walls a stark contrast against the green grass.

\- Oh – Hazir noted. – Have we slept for **days** on that cart?

\- I highly doubt that – Lyndon pondered. – Guess Zei still has a few tricks up his sleeve, despite losing most of his powers.

\- _Cittyyyyy_ – Luther looked over the walls with an almost hungry look in his eyes, no doubt imagining all the treasure he could acquire in there.

But then, he suddenly shook himself and tore his gaze away. With a loud sigh, he opened a golden portal in the air.

\- Luther? – Lyndon looked at him in surprise.

The treasure goblin pointed at the portal, crestfallen.

\- Your home is waiting, yes? – Hazir asked.

\- _Hae! Ffriendds!_ – the demon nodded quickly, before pulling out a dime and flipping it mid-air for Lyndon.

\- I'll remember, Luther, don't worry – the scoundrel smiled at him and crouched down to hug him. – I could not have asked for a better addition to the team!

\- _Ffriendd!_ – Luther exclaimed happily as he crushed the human against himself with surprising strength.

He quickly let go with an apologetic smile, then shook hands with Hazir. Malthael refused to extend his own hand, so the goblin just jabbed him good-naturedly in his hip and gestured at the ice wand with a wink.

\- **_Begone_** _, little blight_ – Malthael snorted at him in return.

 _\- Ffriend!_

 ** _\- As if!_**

Luther only snickered and jumped into the golden portal, disappearing.

\- I need to write a book about all this, truly – Hazir stated after a short pause.

\- Abd. No one will believe it – Lyndon tiredly rolled his eyes.

\- That doesn't matter! I cannot risk losing such precious memories to time!

Lyndon did not really know what to say to this, except smile a little. Hazir could be a bit strange, but the scoundrel envied his ability to be so upbeat after such a continuous near-death experience.

He turned to Malthael and seized him up.

\- You are going to have to shapeshift into a human, if you even can – he stated. – Or we can stuff you into a large enough sack to hide you.

 _\- I am_ _ **not**_ _going inside this_ _ **swine pen**_ _, demonspawn_ – Malthael sniffled offended.

\- Well, I am not going to leave you out here so you can just slip away and cause havoc!

Hazir was scribbling away in his notebook with a defeated sigh while Lyndon and Malthael performed yet another one of their patented arguments. Suddenly, the angel leant uncomfortably close to his adversary, and hissed in a clearly infuriated tone:

 _\- I shall reclaim my_ _ **rightful**_ _title as the Worldstone's guardian._ _ **You**_ _will lead me to it._

\- Him – Lyndon said in an equally venomous voice. – And no, I won't.

 _\- But you will. Otherwise, you will have to kill me. Remember how you have decided that I do not deserve death?_

\- You do not deserve to be reborn in your former glory – Lyndon waved dismissively. – But keep pushing my buttons, please, and I am pretty sure I can come up with a solution to that problem.

Malthael only snorted in a derogatory manner as he straightened out:

 _\- Good luck opposing the power and the will of the Crystal Arch,_ _ **mortal**_ _. I shall stay in this exact same spot. I have no desire to lose my best and only lead to the Eye of Anu._

Lyndon sucked in the air sharply but refrained from retorting. Instead he turned around on his heels, and angrily began stomping out of the forest with Hazir behind him.

\- You two truly need to figure things out eventually – the scholar offered. – This constant bickering will only be detrimental in the future.

\- Abd, he is the Angel of Death, the one who killed thousands of humans in less than a week almost a year ago – Lyndon answered slowly and evenly. – How can you be so okay with all that?

Hazir fell silent for a second, contemplating the question.

\- I… I think I speak easily, since I had been immensely lucky during that time – he finally admitted awkwardly. – I had been on the road during the whole invasion, in the middle of some forest to document the behavior of a few species. I have not seen a single Reaper through the whole thing. And… I reckon I just do not wish to give him reason to revert back into that stage somehow.

Lyndon paused at that last point. He had to admit, there was some merit to not poking the angry genocidal angel's nerves, lest he might poke back with one of those nasty sickle things. He knew he could never, **ever** strike a neutral tone with the asshole, but perhaps the less bonus quips and stabs the scoundrel includes in his sentences, the better.

\- He most certainly does not deserve your support – still, he grumbled as they slowly reached the eastern gate of the city.

\- Well, he did help me defeat the Unclean. And Maluus. And Bul-Kathos – Hazir scratched his head. – Oh dear, I think I still haven't fully processed just how many incredible foes we have faced in the past days.

Lyndon just gave up his convincing and turned his attention back to the guards around the gate. He thanked the gods Hazir was with him, otherwise he would have probably never been able to hackle his way inside without teleporting. He felt a bit sick from using that this much in this las day or two, perhaps it was the best to let it rest for a short while.

oooOOOooo

Who would have guessed that having actual civilization around him would lift his mood.

The bustling of the proud city shook Lyndon a bit out of his general lethargy. He felt like he was actually alive again, conflicted as he still was. Hazir offered him help by buying food, water and other essential traveling kit at the market, while he went and got himself patched up. The scholar himself had to remain in Westmarch, mostly to recover, but also to report to the High Curator of the Archivist order. Countless important information needed to be shared and recorded after all. Still, Hazir promised he could provide them with a bit of a headstart with his Portalfolio.

Lyndon, slightly feeling down that their chatty but cheerful teammate would be leaving as well, headed to the hospital to get the various cuts, bruises and other injuries treated properly, as well as buying some bandages and healing salves finally. Gods know, he needed to prepare for future surprises.

A nurse quickly came rushing to his aid once he was inside, and Lyndon had to double take at her.

\- So—Sophie? – he stammered.

\- Who—Oh, Lyndon, the scoundrel! – the woman exclaimed in surprise, clasping her hands. – I am sorry, I haven't recognized you for a second there. The Reaper attack had been so long ago!

\- Thankfully it had been – Lyndon nodded tiredly as he allowed the woman to lead him to a bed. – How are things with Tyrael, if I may ask?

He took off his coat and crinkled his sleeves up.

\- Oh, well… I am worried for him _constantly_ , you know how it is – Sophie awkwardly smiled as she inspected the bruises on his arm. – He is always on the move, it seems! I just wish he'd leave a note every once in a while. At least now I was there to see him off with—Oh dear, of course!

She covered her mouth with her hands as realization dawned on her.

\- Everything alright? – Lyndon asked carefully.

\- Yes, I am so sorry! This is just so unexpected I forgot to tell you right away. Tyrael had set out with Quiet to some place called the Cathedral of Light.

Lyndon froze to his bed for a second.

\- They had been here?! – he demanded then.

\- Yes, yes! – Sophie nodded rapidly, getting back to her work and forcing the scoundrel to remain relatively motionless. – They had appeared on my doorstep in a pretty bad shape. Me and Haile took care of them and Quiet had decided to go to a place. Tyrael needed a bit of convincing to agree to it, but he did eventually. So they packed up and left, just three days ago.

\- And… was Quiet fine?

\- Yes, for the most part – Sophie recalled. – He seemed very tired and sad, but also determined. Clearly he and Tyrael are… not on the best of terms, so to speak.

\- Where is this Cathedral of Light? Did Tyrael tell you?

\- N—no? I told me that it was somewhere in Kehjistan, but the less I knew about it, the better – Sophie shook her head sadly. – I reckon he did not anticipate that I would meet you.

Kehjistan, just the largest country in all of Sanctuary. Lyndon could not help but curse the fallen angel silently for his tight-lipped-ness. How was he supposed to find them now?! They could have used Waypoints, for all he knew!

… Not only that, but Lyndon had to deal with Malthael first, he realized frustrated. There was simply no way in Hell that he would be leading that idiot right to Quiet!

\- Lyndon?

\- Wha—what? – the scoundrel resurfaced from his mind.

\- I asked if you were planning to go after them? – Sophie looked at him, bandaging his elbow.

\- Yes, yes, definitely! Absolutely! Quiet is my responsibility, Tyrael has no idea what he is doing.

Especially considering that Quiet was the goddamn _Worldstone_.

… The very thing that Tyrael had destroyed in the past.

An unnatural chill ran down on his spine, and Lyndon could not help but imagine the worst possible scenario with those two stuck together. Quiet, with El'druin sticking out of his chest…

\- Sophie… please tell me everything Tyrael had told you about the trip! I **need** to catch up to them – Lyndon pleaded, heart racing in his throat.

\- I wish I could tell you more. All he said was that he was planning to use a couple of Waypoints on the way, to make it quicker – Sophie sadly shook her head, then she placed her hand on his forehead. – Are you feverish?

\- I am fine! – Lyndon lied. – Is there a caravan heading to Lut Gholein soon? Something I can join?!

\- Are you worried that Tyrael would hurt Quiet? – Sophie asked softly after a brief pause.

\- How did you—?

\- I have seen a brief clash of theirs when they were here. It is clear to me that Tyrael has a hard time finding a common ground with Quiet.

\- Oh gods…

\- **But** – here she raised her finger in a no-nonsense way –, I also believe that Tyrael could never hurt Quiet. I am sure of it, in fact.

\- I wish I could share your optimism, lady – Lyndon sunk back onto his bed.

\- He is far too good-hearted for that. I **know** you know that as well – Sophie stated, placing her hands on her hips. – And their clash is also not truly one of anger and hatred. Tyrael is just frustrated that he cannot communicate clearly with Quiet and that leads to him losing his patience. I had helped him see it and encouraged him to try different approaches next time it happens. He will figure it out, you'll see.

Lyndon gulped but did not answer. He was still not fully convinced of his firefly's safety.

\- Here is the deal, scoundrel – Sophie spoke up, finishing her work. – If Tyrael actually ends up hurting or even killing Quiet, you will have the right to kill me in revenge.

\- **_What?!_** – Lyndon exclaimed, almost falling from his bed. – No, I will not! What are you—?!

\- A life for a life, it is only fair – the woman nonchalantly shrugged, before smirking mischievously. – Besides, I know fully well it will not come to pass, that is why I am offering it. I am no gambler, scoundrel.

Lyndon glared daggers at the smiling nurse, before letting out a tired breath. He could kind of see now why Tyrael had fallen for her.

\- I do not accept the deal – he murmured.

\- Suit yourself – Sophie nodded.

\- Still… I need to go after them as soon as possible. We have to regroup.

\- It is a shame they did not wait three days. Things would be much easier now… But Quiet seemed to be in a hurry. He would not sit still until they finally left – Sophie recalled uncertainly.

 _"_ _See you soon. Promiss."_

Lyndon grimaced at the memory. It had sounded like Quiet wanted, or perhaps _needed_ , to do this alone, whatever "this" was. Ytar had seemed to confirm that as well. The scoundrel pursed his lips as he pondered. He wanted nothing more than to rush after Tyrael and Quiet, even if he had to perform a teleportation to the other continent (something that would likely kill him). At the same time, he had this nagging feeling that Quiet chose to go on his temporary separate way for a reason. As if something forced him into this. And if that was the case, then…

\- I really don't know what to do – the scoundrel mumbled, rapidly losing his confidence, standing up from the bed.

\- Well, what have you been doing up until this point? – Sophie blinked at him.

\- Surviving, mostly. With a—with Abd al-Hazir. He's an Archivist here.

\- Then… perhaps you should spend some time with his order? Just to rest and recover. Or you can go after Tyrael and—

\- I… don't think Quiet wants me there. It's a feeling.

-… Something happened between you two?

\- No, just… I don't know why he chose this, but I feel like he has a good reason behind it so… I've got nothing.

Sophie gently squeezed his shoulder with a knowing smile.

\- Perhaps you can stay here, then? To work your way through whatever it is you had experienced in these days.

Lyndon entertained the idea for a second, but his gut once again quickly stepped in.

\- No… it's better for me to be on the road – he concluded. – But thank you for the advice. Perhaps I can use travel to process things.

Sophie merely nodded and handed to him a kit of salves and bandages for the road. After a brief goodbye, the scoundrel was eager to leave the hospital and Westmarch itself all of a sudden. As per their agreement, he was to meet Hazir back at Malthael's spot in the forest, once everything had been taken care of. The sun was beginning its downward dip towards the horizon at this point.

\- _You take your time, Lyndon_ – Malthael snorted disapprovingly as the scoundrel entered the clearing.

Hazir was already there, busily organizing their bags for the trip.

\- Rushing anywhere? – the scoundrel rolled is eyes.

 _\- To the Worldstone, of course._

\- Yeah, keep on dreaming.

\- Like I have said: you two will need to work this out – Abd offered from the side.

He was clearly getting really tired of this animosity, still he dutifully hung around and stuffed the backpack full of food.

\- Thank you for the shopping, Abd. You really helped me out – Lyndon walked there, assessing the new resources.

\- Don't mention it.

\- How much do I owe you?

\- Nothing.

\- Abd, come on! – the scoundrel stared at his friend.

\- I forgot to count – the scholar simply shrugged.

\- No, you did not. You are a terrible liar.

\- Too bad, I can't remember – Hazir adamantly shook his head and not even a pointed glared could break his defense this time.

Lyndon gave up and just simply gathered his stuff for the road.

\- Are you sure you don't wish to come with us? – he tried one more time, slightly hoping the scholar would agree.

\- Thank you, but no – Abd smiled sadly. – I am an Archivist now, I have certain duties to my order. You understand.

\- Of course. Just checking…

\- But I can give you a headstart – Hazir pulled out his Portalfolio. – I have one such book in a forest near Duncraig. That should be a fine distance.

\- Do you happen to have one in Kehjistan somewhere? – Lyndon tried weakly.

\- I wish! But no, since I've become an Archivist, I did not have the time to leave these all around the world just yet. A terrible shame really.

\- Oh well – the scoundrel said in a small voice, officially giving up.

\- _The Worldstone is in Kehjistan then_ – Malthael noted behind him.

\- Would you stop eavesdropping?!

 _\- You are standing a meter away from me, and you are loud as a demonic Marauder. No eavesdropping is necessary, mortal._

Lyndon sucked in his breath in annoyance.

\- I got the memo – he growled to Hazir who was giving him a knowing look.

\- Alright, everyone! – the scholar spoke up loudly as he prepared his magic book. – I am sorry that our paths must separate from here. I have really enjoyed our time together, and I hope we will meet again one day.

\- Me too – Lyndon smiled at him earnestly. – I am sure we will. If nothing else, I will come visit you whenever I can.

\- You still owe me an interview for my next book, once it is all resolved – Hazir grinned at him.

\- I promised no such thing! – the scoundrel defended himself with a slight blush.

\- You also did not outright deny it. Anyway. Hold onto the Portalfolio, everyone!

He reached out with the book opened at a certain page. Lyndon and Malthael grabbed the edges with a bit of reluctance. Immediately they felt the familiar feeling of melting away.

\- That's odd – they heard Hazir's distorted voice as the scholar took one last glance at the page.

Before either of them could start worrying about that comment, the three of them were suddenly flying through the desolate plain of letters until a flash of light took them. Lyndon flew upwards, air once again surrounding him. He collided with something suspiciously soft, which even let out a surprised yelp. The next second he and his friends crashed into the ground with a grunt.

\- _This traveling method is_ _ **primitive**_ – Malthael grumbled, face planted into the dust.

\- Sorry – Hazir moaned from somewhere on their left.

Lyndon sat up on the rocky ground, rubbing the back of his head. Before him lied a man on his back, covered in rags and a really worn out traveling cape. The stranger slowly pulled himself up with his alarmingly pale hands, so Lyndon could see his face under the hood.

Except all he saw was a bottomless, featureless darkness there.

Time froze.

Then the stranger screamed from the top of his lungs:

 _\- HUMANS! HUMANS!_

Shouts of alarm rang all around them at this. Hazir sprung from the ground, startled. Lyndon scuttled back in fear at the sheer volume, frantically looking around. They were in some kind of deep ravine, barren and gray. At the bases of the cliffs makeshift hovels and huts sat miserably, barely standing. Figures exploded from their depths, all of them looking like beggars who just barely survived a terrible storm. Some had six arms under their rags.

And none of them had faces.

\- _No_ – Malthael breathed as he looked at the sudden crowd.

Panic broke out. The strangers screamed and shouted in fear, they scrambled, ran, fled in every possible direction that wasn't occupied by Lyndon and his friends. One of them, a brave one, rushed to the beggar closest to the group and dragged him away. Some took up large stones and flung them at the intruders. Lyndon's sixth sense flared up as he dodged, throwing himself onto the ground. Hazir had not been so lucky: a larger pebble hit him square in the forehead, spilling blood and knocking him onto his rear. He almost fell completely over, but somehow stabilized himself with his hands.

\- **_No!_** – Malthael shouted with pure despair, still kneeling on the ground, his fingers digging trenches into the earth amidst the attack.

Despite the hail of stones, the strangers were clearly not fit for fighting. They were fleeing for their lives in terror, the attacks were only meant as a cover. They quickly disappeared behind the many corners and crooks the winding walls offered. In barely a minute, the ravine was empty once again, with only the collapsing huts and the echoing screams of the figures as a memento of what just happened.

\- Those… those were angels – Lyndon stammered, shocked to his core.

\- Angels? H—how? Why did they attack us? – Hazir hiccupped, quickly pressing the edge of his sleeve against his head injury to stop the generous bleeding.

Malthael sat back onto his heels, staring at the far end of the ravine where the strangers disappeared.

\- _No—Please no_ – he gasped, unable to say anything more.

\- Are you alright?! – Lyndon rushed to Hazir, checking his wound.

Thankfully it wasn't serious, just bled much, like all head injuries did. Still, he helped stifle it with a piece of cloth from his backpack.

\- I—I think yeah? Just… stings – the scholar grimaced. – But what— _who_ were those people?

Lyndon glanced at Malthael. The angel leant forward onto his arms, his head hung low. A deep growl escaped his throat before it quickly rose to a horrible, heart-wrenching keening pitch.

\- Wisdom angels. They were all Wisdom angels, were they not – Lyndon said softly, still looking at Malthael.

\- You mean… the Reapers? Those who had killed our kind? – Hazir blinked the blood out of his eye.

\- _WHY?! WHY THEM?!_ – Malthael screeched in a high voice, desperate and broken. – _THEY DID NOTHING WRONG! THEY FOLLOWED MY LEAD! PUNISH ME, BUT NOT THE—E—EM!_

Lyndon did not know what to say, he fell silent at this revelation.

The Crystal Arch did not only reject Malthael, it had rejected every _single_ **_last_** Reaper that was sent back to it. It tossed all of Wisdom back to Sanctuary, and the angels no doubt had been trying their damnest to just survive ever since. The miserable huts were an honest testament of their attempts.

 _"_ _You have led your own people into ruin, Malthael."_

Lyndon gulped at the memory of his own words. He had said them in glee, in plain disdain and hatred, but this… he did not expect this. Perhaps he should have felt triumphant that the world proved him right. He should have rubbed it in the face of the archangel.

Instead he felt… pity. Not just for all those angels, but for Malthael himself.

The archangel slowly curled into a ball and he was crying his heart out. He tightly hugged himself and rocked back and forth, weeping in that same heart-wrenching voice Quiet sometimes did. He kept repeating "why them", "not them" as a mantra. A ripple ran across his form and he shed his dual appearance. His robes grew dull grey, long and worn. His somewhat visible wings practically disappeared once again, nothing but white smudges of smoke over his shoulder blades. His fingers grew alarmingly tight around his arms.

\- Mal—Mal, stop this! – Lyndon rushed there and tore one hand away before the angel could start clawing himself to death.

\- They were your people? You—you thought they returned safely to the Heavens? – Hazir whispered, wiping off the blood from his face.

He too walked up there gently pulled away the other hand. Malthael could not stop keening, he did not even try to lift his head.

\- _They did not deserve this_ – he whimpered. – _They were only following orders… I failed them…_

Hazir pursed his lips, before he leant forward and hugged the broken angel. Malthael let it happen, he basically leant on the scholar for support. Lyndon stood next to them, not sure of what to do. Instead of smugness and triumph, he felt miserable and awkward. He had thought for certain that he would never feel pity for Malthael but… he had not seen the archangel this devastated before. The seraphim wept in Hazir's embrace, wrapping one arm loosely around the scholar in return.

With a deep sigh, Lyndon sat down onto the ground, next to the pair. He stared towards the far end of the ravine, as if expecting the fallen angels to return. He involuntarily thought about actions and consequences.

Edlin. Maya and Eric. Rea. Leah. The Seven Jade Statues. Those guards in the estate.

Lyndon had had a hand in all of their fates.

\- Consequences can be hard to bear – he finally spoke up softly. – I know. It is a harsh lesson when you are mortal. When… you don't get a second try.

Malthael kept on weeping, but Hazir slightly nodded at him.

\- We need to learn to either let go or make amends – Lyndon went on, drawing slightly closer. – It is hard, and brutal. Painful. But if we try to run away, it will eventually catch up.

It did not look like the angel registered his words. The scoundrel wasn't even sure why this lecture decided to show up.

\- He won't be able to go anywhere in this state – Abd grimaced as he readjusted his hold on his companion.

\- We cannot leave him here.

\- No. I am thinking of bringing him to the Great Library.

\- Your people will never accept him. You told me they had to fight off the Reapers during the invasion – Lyndon shook his head.

Hazir pursed his lips again.

\- True – he admitted. – But our High Curator is a greatly experienced old man. I am certain he will have his objections. But if anyone, he will be able to understand what had happened. He might give him shelter.

\- And if not?

\- Then… I will think of something. Don't worry, Malthael won't remain alone.

Lyndon took a deep breath.

\- I can't think of a better idea – he finally conceded. – So be it. If you think you can handle him.

\- I think I can, yes. We are on pretty good terms, I believe.

\- Compared to a demon? Yes, you are.

Hazir chuckled weakly but it quickly died down and he patted the back of Malthael.

\- Abd. We cannot tell anyone what we saw here – Lyndon looked into his eyes. – If the people realize that the Reapers are here on Sanctuary, weak and unarmed…

\- Yes, you are right – Hazir nodded seriously. – They would be gutted and skinned alive on the main squares of every town.

\- I am going back with you two—

\- No need. You need to go after Quiet. I can handle this.

Lyndon fell silent. He did not want to leave his friends behind, that much was true. But he also wanted to be alone finally. The events of these past days had been hard on him. He had a lot to ponder on, and he wished for some silence and solitude to work it all out. In the end, he was a loner, that was his element. Still, he felt guilty for dumping the people who had saved his life more times than he cared to count.

Yes, that included Malthael, if he had to be truly honest with himself.

\- I… – he struggled to find the right words as he looked around helplessly.

The rundown cottages were a sad sight to see, but he also finally noticed the Portalfolio lying not too far from them. No doubt one of the angels found it while scouting, and since being Wisdom, they could not withstand the temptation of taking it and reading it later.

Malthael had slowly quieted down, even though he refused to let go of Hazir.

\- Lyn… it's okay. Really – the scholar smiled reassuringly. – I am a traveler as well, I know the lure of the road and to brave the world alone. You truly need this to clear you head.

\- I— thank you, Abd. I am damn lucky to have you as a friend – Lyndon finally caved in with a deep sigh. – Just… be careful, alright? I don't want you to get into trouble because of my mistakes.

\- I too have a few tricks to evade trouble – Hazir winked at him. – You forget, I have documented countless dangerous beasts and cults before from up close.

Lyndon snorted in humor at that. That much was true. Hazir wrote about monsters that attacked anything on sight. There was no need to worry about him.

Finally, they shook hands firmly. Lyndon was reluctant to let go, but eventually he did and stood up, lifting up his bag from the ground.

\- Take care, Abd… Malthael – he waved at them as he began walking uncertainly out of the ravine.

\- May the gods keep watching over you! – Hazir called out, flipping open his Portalfolio and disappearing into it with the numb angel.

Lyndon got out of the ravine just as the sun began to set, painting the sky blazing red. The scoundrel looked at the horizon from the top of a small hill from where the narrow began. Duncraig was south of his position, he reckoned.

What now? Where to go? What to do?

Lyndon exhaled loudly as he tilted his head to the sky with close eyes. The evening wind was picking up around him, bringing in a fresh scent of grass and earth.

\- You need time. I understand – he spoke up finally. – Whatever it is, I hope you will stay safe and find what you are looking for. I too have to uncover my way forward. I will go look for you, but perhaps… give you a bit of a lead first.

He began walking down from the hill, towards Duncraig.

\- See you soon, Quiet. I promise.

 **-end of Act II-**

* * *

 **So here it is, cupcakes. The curtain call for this** ** _gargantuan_** **Act II, after 26 chapters, almost 110.000 words (!), angels going apeshit, and an arsenal of deadly books.**

 **It was a blast getting up to this point. I had very different plans for this Act in the beginning, but I am honestly much happier with how it had turned out in the end. If you are interested in some behind-the-scenes about the original plans, you can read it beyond the Lore & Trivia Corner.**

 **Just like after the end of Act I, I now shall fall silent for a time, while I iron out the base lines of Act III (which, knowing myself at this point, will be ignored anyway later XD) and perhaps give some well-deserved attention to my other projects, for example my own book.**

 **Thank you everyone who have stuck with me through all this madness, with hiatuses and occasionally complete cluelessness. You cupcakes are truly amazing, and I am grateful for your support! ^^**

 **See you back here for Act III – Quiet's and Tyrael's very own personal** **misfortunes** **adventures!**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- Zei: Xianshai god of thieves and travelers. Zei was very much like Hermes from Greek mythology: tricky, mischievous but also often on the side of humans. In his most famous story he had angered the god of desire, Dirgest by stealing away his girl, Liria, the second moon of Sanctuary. While Zei could eventually imprison Dirgest into a jewel, he had became mortal in the process to carry this burden. Today, some people know him as _Covetous Shen_.

\- Dirgest: Xianshai god of desire, Dirgest was a nocturnal god most of the time. He had Liria as his lover and he guarded her jealously from everyone. Eventually Zei managed to get to her despite everything, and this angered Dirgest so much that he vowed to destroy everything and everyone Zei held dear… including Liria herself. He was stopped after a lengthy rampage and sealed away into a stone, but he is far from defeated. By the end of Act V in-game, he had broken out of his prison and already had a minion, Vekriss covering his tracks.

\- Zei's Stone of Vengeance: a legendary gem from the game, best used for ranged builds. It has the effect of raising damage the farther the enemy is.  
 _"Legend says this gem was crafted by Zei to torment fleeing enemies. Other legends claim that Zei never existed."_

\- Shen being taken over by Dirgest: this idea came from a possible in-game bug. During Shen's quest, at the very end of it, when I had beaten Vekriss already, I noticed that I had left a few Nephalem lanterns intact during the fight. Out of habit, I smashed those as well, to release their souls. They attacked Shen right away as if he was an enemy, while keeping Liria untouched.

\- The rebirth of angels: while it is stated that angels lose their entire identity once they return to the Arch to be reborn, I am certain that it is not the same for Archangels. An archangel to lose their memories, personality and all their life experience would mean a terrible _terrible_ blow to the Angelic Host as a whole. Just as the Evils retain their memories after reforming (Diablo is the best example throughout the series), I believe that Archangels too return from the Arch just as they had been before their deaths. They are, after all, the clearest "notes" in the Crystal Arch's harmony, and there can only be one of those.

Besides that, the angels of Wisdom are still themselves because they had been rejected before they could fully rejoin the Arch. They have to live with the memories of what they had done.

 **The OG Act II**

Oh, this one's gonna be good.

The beginning of the planned Act and this Act was very much the same, actually. Quiet snaps, they get to Westmarch, Tyrael goes apeshit, Johanna separates them, the call for revolt against the Heavens, Tyrael and Quiet, Lyndon and Malthael…

In the OG plan, both parties would have been stuck in Corvus indefinitely. The underground city had been much more massive, with space-warping properties, which meant they could walk for a few hours down a corridor, and end up somewhere under Kehjistan. Both parties would have received spotlight, and eventually they would meet up in the Temple of the Firstborn.

I would have struggled to fill the underground city with interesting stuff, however. Corvus is very atmospheric but it is the most one-sided place in the game in my opinion. I probably would have thought of some crazy shit, still, but I eventually realized it was much better and healthier to get them out of there and open up new possibilities that way.

In the meantime, Lyndon's and Malthael's arc was stretching out for pretty long. I have planned to quickly get them through Sescheron without any cuts, then go to Tyrael and Quiet and give them their fair share of spotlight. And it will happen… only in completely different Acts. XD There was just so much to tackle for Lyndon and Malthael, I have realized that I did not want to rush through it, yet at the same time I needed to finish this Act eventually.

Thus, the new Act III will be about only Tyrael and Quiet as they forge towards the Cathedral of Light. Knowing me, I will have no trouble with filling an entire Act with their misfortunes. I already have some spicy ideas, including an old face. ;) Act III will probably not be this long, I am expecting around the same length as Act I had been.

But after this, I am not promising anything. XD I could write the next Odyssey, for all I know. In fact, that personal favorite piece of literature is a pretty big inspiration for the upcoming Act III. This should be interesting!

 **I hope I can see you there! Take care cupcakes, and thank you once again.**


	40. Chapter 40

**_Chapter 40_**

 ** _\- Act III -_**

All he had to do was shepherd the living Worldstone across the entire length of Sanctuary. What could possibly go wrong?

Positive thinking had never been Tyrael's forte.

\- We'll look out for the small spark, dontcha worry!

\- Haile, you don't know what he is capable of – Tyrael tried to warn the captain in a futile attempt.

\- I know he is a kid, I know he is scared, and I know he has weird light tendril shi— _stuff_ growing out of his back! Ain't no more that needs to be known here, my boy.

\- Go take care of things at home. We can handle ourselves – Sophie smiled reassuringly at Tyrael.

\- I'd rather not—

\- Are ya saying, _boy_ , that I, as a father of two kids, **cannot** watch over a third one for half a day?! – boomed Haile with all the disdain in the world.

So that is how Tyrael found himself walking briskly down on the main street in the late afternoon, having realized that arguing with those two was more pointless than the Eternal Conflict. He could only hope he would find everything intact and normal when he got back.

But his friends were right to a degree: Tyrael couldn't just disappear for a gods-know how long journey across Sanctuary without informing the Horadrim of his whereabouts. He was responsible for them in some way. Thankfully his mansion still stood, even if it had a huge, charred opening on its side. The fire had been stopped before it could cause damage to the rest of the house, or to the neighboring buildings. Tyrael could hear talking coming from the hole so he used that as an entrance. It led to one of the side corridors where Lorath Nahr was standing, surrounded by a stonemason and a carpenter. They were busy agreeing on the renovations and the price, when Tyrael gained their attention with a cough.

\- Sir! It is good to see you! I thought something had attacked you in the house – Lorath rushed there, blue eyes gleaming with relief.

\- Good to see you too, Lorath – Tyrael smiled warmly at him, clapping him on the shoulder.

\- What happened, really? You seem… too well-dressed to have gone through a crisis – the young warrior looked him over with slight surprise.

Oh right… the tunic he donned after taking a bath.

\- It's a… long story. I'll tell you a bit later – Tyrael scratched his head.

\- What 'bout th' house, Yer Excellency? – drawled the mason in the background.

Tyrael glanced at Lorath at this title, who only shrugged helplessly.

\- Yes, right – the mortal angel turned back to the craftsmen. – It will certainly need some… _renovations_.

\- Aye, it looks like sum Hellfire Beast ran thru 'ere – the carpenter snorted with glee.

\- Can we adjourn this meeting, good sirs? I need to clarify a few things first.

\- Arright… if ya don' mind people robbing yer home, Yer Excellency – the mason shrugged and together with his colleague, they left through the opening.

Tyrael stared after them, before turning back to Lorath:

\- "Your Excellency"?

\- I… couldn't tell them that you were a mortal angel owning a huge house. Even they immediately assumed you were a count the second they stepped inside – the young man was quick to defend himself.

Tyrael tiredly massaged his neck. During his time on Sanctuary, he had learnt well that money and titles made the world go around. That was one of the reasons he had accepted the gifted fortune and home from King Torion: as much as it didn't feel completely right to him, he realized this meant possible advantages in the future. So he just swallowed his objections and received the offering with a smile.

\- So… what happened, Tyrael? – Lorath asked timidly.

\- Come on, let's find some chairs. This will be a long story… and some things will not make complete sense, I reckon – the mortal angel walked through the hole in the inner wall where Kormac had burst into the main hall.

Inside, another figure was standing atop the rubble and charred remains, observing the mostly destroyed pillars that had been changed by Inarius. The newcomer wore dark clothes, an impressive cape, and had a large bulge of a sack tied to his belt.

\- Zayl, good to see you – Tyrael nodded towards the shadow with a slight smile.

\- 'ey lads! Nice to know you are still in one piece – came the voice of Humbart Wessel from the bag.

\- When did you arrive? – Lorath asked as they walked up to him.

Both men were more than accustomed to the necromancer's silent behavior and shadow-like swooping around.

\- Just an hour ago. There was an attack here – Zayl turned to them, his pale face barely betraying any emotions.

\- One neither of you would anticipate. Come – Tyrael frowned as he led them to the mostly untouched dining hall.

As it turned out, it was harder to recount the mad events of these past few days than the mortal angel originally thought, especially since he had to leave out certain details. He told them of how Lyndon the scoundrel appeared on his doorstep with an angel (who refused to tell his name), and how Kormac attacked them out of nowhere and tried to trick Tyrael with an illusion. He talked about the encounter with Johanna in the Blood Marsh, and how she separated them and sent them to Corvus by destroying the Waypoint there.

\- That explains why I could only use the Waypoint near the main road – mused Zayl aloud. – But what has gotten into her?

\- There is more – Tyrael grimaced.

He told them how he and the angel got stranded together, but that they managed to get out of Corvus ("by some sheer luck") and back to Westmarch. Johanna's riling speech about the High Heavens did not sit well with either of the Horadrim.

\- A possible war with the High Heavens. This is **bad** – Lorath breathed.

\- Can this angel help us avoid that conflict? – Zayl asked.

\- I… don't think so. He is here on a different mission, and he's… very _adamant_ about it – answered Tyrael.

He had to focus really hard on the notion that no, he was **not** lying, he was merely emphasizing certain details of the whole picture. Otherwise, he would have long since bitten his tongue to a bloody stump. Saying complete falsehoods with a straight face was a human trait Tyrael both disdained and occasionally envied.

\- But if we help him with his mission… provided it is not something detrimental to Sanctuary of course… we will win over an ally who could help us smooth things over in the long run! – Lorath exclaimed, already getting excited.

\- Only me – Tyrael interrupted him. – I am the only one who can accompany him on this mission.

-… Why? – Zayl tilted his head slightly.

\- It is better if you do not get involved, trust me. This angel is very… _skittish_ , and distrustful of anyone. He barely tolerates me.

\- This sounds like a trap.

\- Yes—I mean… it will be perilous, but I have to handle this alone – Tyrael hurried with a defense.

\- Are you sure? We can follow and stay in the shadows – Lorath offered.

\- No, definitely not! This is an angel we are talking about, and a very strange one at that. Usual tricks will fail against him – Tyrael shook his head.

-… If you say so – Zayl nodded.

He clearly did not like the idea, but as a Priest of Rathma he also understood the need to go on a quest alone. Sometimes teamwork wasn't an advantage. Lorath too fell silent, displeased but temporarily retreating.

\- So what now? Where shall you go? – the necromancer asked.

\- From what I can tell, our path will lead to the southern most parts of Kehjistan. We will take a few Waypoints along the way – Tyrael said, deep in thought. – Luth Gholein would be the best option to cross the Twin Seas.

\- And… until you return? What shall the Horadrim do? – Lorath spoke up.

\- **If** he returns – grumbled Humbart from the sack, earning a hard slap from Zayl.

\- You are given free reign – Tyrael ignored the skull. – If you meet any other members, tell them of my mission. If you hear of a crisis, go and help however you can. If an important relic or writing surfaces, investigate. If you find a promising hero to be a new member, feel free to try and involve him. I will decide later if they can stay or not.

\- So, business as usual – Humbart summarized.

\- Exactly. Also, Lorath. Try to strike a deal with the craftsmen on the renovations. And – Tyrael turned to the young man –, if you can, try to somehow calm the general opinion about angels… if nothing else, then within the ranks of the city guards. Captain Hansen Haile should be able to help you with that.

\- Damage control. I'll see to it – Lorath nodded with the outmost conviction.

\- Is there anything you need to do, Zayl? Something we can help with? – Tyrael glanced at the necromancer.

\- Nothing yet, thank you – came the soft reply. – There is… something in the Balance, a foreboding sense. Perhaps the work of Johanna herself. But until I receive a clear sign, I cannot act upon it.

\- I bet the Hero of Sanctuary would be a presence enough to mess up the Balance – Lorath grimaced.

Tyrael nodded, his mood not helped by this new information.

\- I need to get ready now. Thank you for listening – he stood up.

 _And forgive me for twisting the whole truth…_

Zayl glanced at him a moment longer, then nodded in agreement:

\- May the Balance guide you, Tyrael.

The mortal angel waved in gratitude as he disappeared upstairs.

At first he wanted to don his usual heavy armor, but eventually he decided against it. As much as he felt almost naked without it, it was also a complete curse during long travels. Tyrael knew he had to maximize his comfort, if he wanted to practice any amount of patience towards Inarius.

\- I swear if this journey ends in him creating yet another Sanctuary… Or worse… – he murmured under his nose, as he readied a very uncharacteristic leather chest armor, pauldrons, vambrances and tassets.

It was a relatively light outfit, and his heavy traveling cape barely helped that matter. Still, it had to do. Tyrael then began packing a backpack with some bandages, a firesteel and flint, a doss and a few other essentials. He had a feeling tomorrow Sophie and Haile would greatly expand the kit, so he did not put much planning into it. Lorath left to hunt down the craftsmen and Zayl disappeared to wherever necromancers tended to disappear. Tyrael could only hope he wouldn't scare the grieving visitors in the graveyard, like last time. Some of them almost believed the Reapers came back…

Most of the mortal angel's mind was occupied just how horribly bad of an idea this journey was, even as he hunted down some bread from the thankfully untouched pantry and had a measly dinner finally. He had to cross the entire world with an agitated, stubborn and underdeveloped angel who was also apparently the Worldstone itself, or at least a part of it, or he was a vessel, or…

This just sounded **bad** already.

There was a glimpse of a dark cape at the edge of his vision as Tyrael climbed back upstairs. Perhaps Zayl didn't leave afterall. Necromancers were hard to understand at times.

Tyrael had an even deeper worry than chaperoning a god-like child around: there was no denying that both Inarius and the Worldstone had the potential to carry ill will towards the former Archangel of Justice. He had already garnered a burst of rage from the little angel back in Corvus. It looked like Inarius did not remember much, he couldn't even remember the name of his cathedral. It was an interesting question, however, how much of his past he would recover during this journey… and if those memories would serve as fuel for hatred.

It wasn't like they started out on the right foot, Tyrael thought sourly, as he flung himself into his bed. Had he still been an Archangel, he would have had less to worry about, but now as a mortal he was keenly aware of his own vulnerability. Then again, if the Worldstone really was capable of thoughts and emotions, then really nothing would have kept him safe on the long run…

It was a borderline miracle that Tyrael could fall asleep at all, but he did.

oooOOOooo

\- Do no want you to go – mumbled Quiet as he hugged the legs of the pretty lady, face buried in her brown skirt.

\- Oh little one, don't worry. Kapten Heyly will be happy to give you room for the night. But I have to go home now – Soffia patted his head, which sent a wave of warmth through him.

\- But you are pretty and kind.

\- Thank you, you are very sweet.

\- Teeriel is mean.

\- He is just worried for you, little one – Soffia crouched down to him.

Quiet quickly wiped off his tears as he looked at the lady.

\- But he is skerry. And mean. He is no worried – he tried again weakly.

\- Yes, he is, he's just… not that good at expressing it. But he cares about you, and he is afraid you will get hurt.

\- He does no care what my name is – Quiet pressed on, sniffling. – He says I'm Inarius. I am no Inarius!

Soffia sighed loudly as she looked at the floor.

\- He can be stubborn, yes – she finally said after a pause. – But I talked to him about this. He promised he will try to be less mean to you.

Quiet doubted this, but he did not want to tell that to the pretty lady.

\- In return, I would like to ask something from you too – Soffia smiled at him. – You should listen to him as well, and try to learn from what he is saying.

\- He says I am Inarius. I am no— _not_!

\- I know, little one. You two can talk about this, and agree on something. You both will have to be calm, but you can do it. This is how grownups deal with problems, you see.

\- But I am no grownup. Leendonn says I can't use bad words because they are for grownups.

Soffia laughed at this, hugging Quiet close and standing up with him. The little angel did not fight it, he wished he could stay like this. It helped him calm down a bit.

\- Bad words sure are only for grownups, that is true – the pretty lady said. – But there are certain things that you can start learning early. If you do that, it will be easier to be a grownup. Bad words aren't hard to learn, and they don't help, but being able to calmly talk about problems with others is very useful. If you start practicing now, you will be very good at it when you grow up.

Quiet thought about what she said. Leendonn had also said similar things in the past, but he was talking about climbing and sneaking and scaring off bad people. But if it was true for those skills, it must be true for others as well.

\- I'll try – he mumbled into the hug.

\- Thank you, little one. It will make things much easier, you'll see – Soffia smiled again and she put him down. – Now, I really need to go. Be a darling, and tell Kapten Heyly that I left, alright?

-… Alright – Quiet mumbled sadly as he shuffled after the wide skirt of the pretty lady.

He felt like he was underwater, his senses dimmed. Probably because he was sad and skerd of tomorrow. He did not know what to expect, and without Leendonn he didn't feel safe. A part of him was terrified about the next red needle he might aim at Teeriel's head. The big bald man was mean, but he did not deserve to die.

Still, Quiet had to know what was in that grassy place. And he had to know it without Leendonn. He only wished he could make sense out of all this.

Soffia walked up to the front door, and with a last smile over her shoulder, she pushed it open, ready to step onto the stairs.

A flash of pure terror stabbed into Quiet, painful and sharp. He screamed from the top of his lungs and instinctively grabbed and dragged the pretty lady back from the door. The veil on his senses was obliterated.

Beyond the stairs, on the cobblestone streets, something, **_many_** things were crawling out of the strange openings that led to the sewers. They were made out of human and animal bones and they were moved by an evil power, Quiet could feel it finally. A smaller army of them were emerging, all headed straight for their house. The people on the streets shouted and backed up.

These monsters were all dead. They weren't _supposed_ to move _ **Why did they move?!**_

Soffia screamed as well, she grabbed Quiet from the ground and slammed the door shut, before running back inside the dining room. Kapten Heyly came rushing down from the room of Kyla and Jeralt.

\- What happened, girl?!

\- Crawlers! Skeletal Crawlers! – Soffia shouted, putting the terrified Quiet down and grabbing a long wooden spoon from near the fire place.

Heyly said some words that Quiet suspected were very bad indeed, then he ran deeper into the house. The horrible monsters clawed at the door that was creaking and falling apart. The little angel froze with sheer terror as he saw glimpses of them through the rapidly growing cracks. This wasn't supposed to happen, those weren't supposed to move at _all_! The shock of just how **wrong** these creatures were completely immobilized Quiet.

\- Those _fakin_ things still get uppity around here at times. But not **this** many all at once! – Heyly rushed back inside, shield and sword at the ready, as he shouted up at the children's room. – Kids, stay in there, you hear!?

Just in time, because in that moment, the entrance door gave in and the Crawlers swarmed inside the antechamber. Keening like a tortured dog, clacking their empty jaws hungrily, they invaded the home, even as armed guards and bystanders rushed at the end of the group, hacking them to pieces. Despite the outside help, an alarming number of Crawlers could get inside and dived straight at the cornered victims.

Heyly kicked one in the face, shattering its skull, then he slashed another in two, while using his shield to crush a third one. Soffia too stood her ground admirably, flinging her wooden spoon and whacking Crawlers against the walls. Behind them, Quiet still couldn't make his body move, nor could he tear his eyes away from the creatures. A small part of him urged him to do _something_ already, the shouting and fighting spirit of all the humans on the streets filled him with energy, but sheer dread froze him to his spot. His mind was unable to let it go. Why did these things move?! Dead things weren't supposed to move!

Why were they **all** looking at _him_ with those empty holes for eyes?!

Quiet's back collided with the wall, he heard himself cry and call out for Leendonn, but it felt like he was no longer in control of his own body.

A shrill battlecry slightly jolted him out of the numbness of fear. Kyla vaulted over the railings from the gallery, wooden shield and sword at the ready. Heyly screamed at her, but she plummeted straight into the middle of the attacking horde and landed on three Crawlers, crushing them. With surprising precision, she struck forward. Her sword, while not having any blade whatsoever, was sturdy and blunt enough to bash in the old bones.

\- Kyla, get out of there this instant, you hear me?! – Heyly shouted again, trying to cut a path to his daughter in the clacking, angry, morbid swarm of remains.

The little girl was about to answer when a Crawler chomped down on her left ankle hard enough to draw blood. She shrieked and pulverized the attacker with her shield. Another Crawler managed to scratch her forearm in a long gash. Soffia screamed and grabbed the skeleton that launched itself at her and grabbed her shirt and skirt, hanging from her like a bat. Heyly's sword was knocked out of his hand by an unseen strike.

A realization finally tore through the terror in Quiet's mind: his friends were getting **hurt**. Rage raced across his entire being, similar to that terrified night with Leendonn when they had been ambushed by bad people. Leendonn had almost died by a bolt to his head then, but Quiet ordered the world to change and stop that from happening.

The only difference now was that he could _control_ this very same rage. And whatever evil power was responsible for this attack, would **not** stand in his way.

He let out a battlecry, deep like thunder and powerful like a volcanic eruption, and lunged forward, eyes blazing red. Red needles appeared behind him, growing long curved blades before they flew forward and began cutting through the monsters like they were little more than air. Every swing and strike resulted in a Crawler exploding into fine powder, the tendrils of the evil force leaving them, hissing in an almost angry manner.

The horde immediately shifted its whole attention at Quiet, but the little angel would not be denied. He grabbed one of the curved blades of red gem and swung it around himself, his former fear long forgotten. These things shouldn't be moving, so all he had to do was _correcting_ this mistake. Killing these beasts did not give him any burst of power, unlike killing humans had done, but the fighting spirit of all the humans in the vicinity was making up for that with their slower, but consistent source of energy. The strange part of him, the one that had been massive and unmoving once, was thrilled to no end: it was finally fighting properly, protecting friends, a new aspect of existence that it had had little experience before.

It was quite amazing, being able to _fight back_ , after all these eons of being used like a tool.

Heyly retrieved his sword while kicking a few clambering Crawlers out of the way, and shouting all sorts of bad words at the whole horde as he got back into the fight. Soffia managed to tear off the attacker and smashed it into the floor, stomping it to pieces with righteous fury. The pretty lady quickly grabbed her wooden spoon once again and fell upon the monsters, her eyes gleaming angrily. Kyla easily shook off her injuries, and kept hacking, cheering for Quiet all the way:

\- Yeah, that's right! That's how Weztmarchers fight! Kick their arses!

Quiet was all too happy to oblige, even though he wasn't entirely sure what "arse" meant.

The sudden surge of counterattack quickly overwhelmed the mindless Skeletal Crawlers. The guards and armed bystanders fought their way into the house, and the remaining monsters were quickly destroyed in the pincer attack they found themselves in.

Quiet abruptly stopped as silence settled in, breathing heavily, but feeling more alive than ever before. He stared at the last vestiges of the evil magic trying to slip away. He quickly struck out and grabbed a tendril, pulling it back slightly.

\- **Get out. And** ** _never_** **come back!** – he hissed at it, before squeezing it and erasing it from existence.

This magic had felt somewhat similar to the one that the _worthless_ First Spawn of Anu had left behind on his beloved world, and that was enough to raise his ire. He shook it off and rushed back to his friends, his curved blades disappearing from sight. Their purpose was fulfilled. The guards did a sweeping check, then satisfied with their work, left the house to seal back the sewer entrance in the street. The excitement was winding down, and with it, the extra energy also slowly stopped flowing into Quiet. That was fine, now it was time for peace.

\- What were you thinking, Kyla?! I told you to stay inside your room! – Heyly was busy chiding his daughter in a tone that reminded Quiet of Leendonn when he was angry.

\- You needed help, papa! We could take them like this.

So papas did this too, not just friends? Strange. Perhaps "papa" was a special type of friend, Quiet mused silently.

Soffia was already checking out the girl's wounds, frowning:

\- We need to clean it as fast as possible, before it gets infected.

\- Can you help with that? – Heyly asked.

\- I need to go back to the hospital to get some salves. Until then, you can use water to—

Quiet walked there and gently took Kyla's hand into his. The injury was shallow but ugly, and Quiet could sense little beings inside that would be the source of an ugly sickness if not treated carefully. He frowned at that, and willed those little things to turn into nothing, before sealing the cut, making sure not to leave behind a scar. The bite mark on the ankle obeyed the same way.

-… Goddamn! – Heyly stared at them.

\- Wow – Soffia gasped too. – I… you can do this, Quiet?

\- It's easy. I asked it to heal – the little angel let go of Kyla.

\- This is great! – the girl exclaimed, grinning widely, looking over her arm.

\- But wait, what if the poison is still inside? – Soffia argued, full of worry.

\- It wasn't poison. Little things that cause sicknesses – Quiet shook his head. – I had them disappear completely. It is safe.

The pretty lady blinked at him in confusion, but did not question him. Quiet only now noticed the ugly holes and tears in her dress because of the Skeletal Crawler hanging from her. He silently asked the texture to mend itself, which it readily did, much to the surprise of Soffia.

\- Thank you, Quiet! – Kyla hugged the little angel, grinning widely.

Quiet smiled back sheepishly.

\- Well… I mean, angels are a weird bunch. We shouldn't be surprised – Heyly looked at Soffia, shrugging.

-… I wonder if Teeriel could do the same when he had been an angel – the pretty lady mused loudly, looking at her once again perfect dress.

\- These Skeletal Crawlers, though – grumbled Heyly, looking at his ruined entrance. – A few sometimes climb up from the Plague Tunnels, but… _never_ this many! What did rile them up this badly, I wonder…

\- They were all going for Quiet, did you notice that? – Soffia added, frowning. – Maybe he was the most interesting because he was an angel?

\- Maybe? It's not like we can ask one of these little shits, girl…

Quiet realized the door was still busted. He asked the wood to get back into shape and reattach itself to the frame. After that, he allowed Kyla to drag him upstairs, to tell Jeralt of their great victory tonight.

\- That shit's still weird – he heard Heyly's comment on the newly repaired door.

* * *

 **AAAND WE ARE BACK, cupcakes! Thank you for your continued patience while I continue to fight my way through an endless series of obstacles.**

 **Now onto the journey of a lifetime! Disclaimer: this Act may hold familiar aspects to veteran Diablo players. That is… partially intentional. :P**

 **Please do feel free to picture Captain Haile saying "boy" like in the new God of War video game. I implore you.**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- Third time's the charm I guess: This chapter took me three tries to nail down. That was one of the reasons for the delay. The first time around, too many things happened all at once, while nothing really got enough screen time. The second time around it was too bland. The third time I said "fuck it" and threw in the Skeletal Crawlers. Fear not, though, for this decision was very much intentional, and does have a role to play on the long run. ;)

\- Skeletal Crawlers: Unholy fusions of human and animal remains that died during the Great Pestilence of Westmarch. The dead were piled up into the Plague Tunnels, from where the Reapers' powers called upon them. Despite killing every last Reaper, their magic still lingers to this day, and while it is not strong enough to cause any real harm to living beings, it is more than enough to still move these ugly things around.

\- Quiet's fear of the undead: Since he is the fusion of the two beings, Inarius and the Worldstone, who originally filled Sanctuary with life, I figured both of them are firm believers of the " _dead things shouldn't fucking_ _ **move**_ " philosophy. Simple.


	41. Chapter 41

**_Chapter 41_**

Tyrael couldn't really explain why he didn't just give up and turn around after the **first** one and a half kilometers of the journey. Perhaps Inarius' stubbornness was contagious.

Or perhaps he did not wish to be unjustly burnt to ashes by the idiotic gods of Sanctuary.

It all started with waking up from a nightmare. Thankfully his mortal brain very quickly got rid of all the details, and all that was left was a foreboding feeling: a pale bony hand pointing at something and telling him that he was a traitor. He had more pressing matters to pay attention to than that.

Next, he discovered that while he had been away, a sizeable horde of Skeletal Crawlers had decided to go insane and siege Haile's home, while Sophie was _still_ there. After a formidable distance of running faster than he thought he was capable of (the new leather armor might have helped with that), Tyrael almost crashed into his girlfriend before her house, who assured him that she was indeed fine, and nothing serious happened, really.

\- Are you certain you are fine? No injuries, no poison, nothing? – Tyrael asked for the third time, trying to catch his breath.

\- Tyrael, I am alright, don't worry – Sophie smiled at him, rushing back inside and offering him a glass of water. – Kyla got a bit hurt, but after we won, Quiet healed her wounds and she is completely fine as well.

It took a bit more convincing, but eventually Tyrael managed to calm down. Sophie quickly took the opportunity to bury him in salves, bandages, herbs and potions she had prepared for him yesterday.

\- Sophie, it's a bit too much – the angel tried to argue.

\- You are going to _Kehjistan_!

\- Yes, but we are taking Waypoints along the—

\- I don't care if you are _flying_ there! It's still the **other** end of the world! – Sophie stomped her foot.

She clearly meant it to be intimidating, but honestly Tyrael couldn't think of a cuter gesture from her.

\- Alright, alright! Thank you, I will take care of it, I promise – Tyrael finally caved in and accepted it.

Sophie's pointed glare made him pause.

-… And of myself, of course – he quickly added, smiling awkwardly.

\- You are to write me letters, alright?!

\- Sophie—

\- I mean it, Tyrael! I want to know what is happening with you two!

\- You know postal services are… problematic on the road – Tyrael scratched his head.

\- I don't care! Hunt down the messengers with El'druin if you have to! I want to receive news from you, even if it's weeks later!

\- Alright, alright! I promise I will write – he relented with a slight smile.

\- And do not throw yourself needlessly into conflict.

\- Yes, madam.

\- And eat well and regularly!

\- Sophie…

\- And **sleep** regularly too!

Tyrael leant in and gently kissed her on the cheek, stunning her.

\- For you, anything – he smiled widely at her.

\- Just be careful, alright? Come back home to me, Tyrael – Sophie sighed, her spark dying out as she hugged the man back.

Tyrael had yet to get used to someone actively demanding from him to return in one piece. But he reckoned he liked the feeling. It was strong enough to push aside his worries temporarily.

Of course his worries returned with backup when he finally went back to Haile's house. The captain prepared a collection of beef jerky, dried fruit and even a water sack that had a purifying rune woven into it to clean the water it held.

\- Haile, this must have cost an arm and a leg! – Tyrael stared at the priceless tool. – I can't take this from you.

\- This water sack had served me through Bastion's Keep and the Reaper attack. I figured it could see a bit more action now – the captain grinned, patting the sack with great pride. – I know it will be of great help to you as well. And ya ain't leaving the house without it, _boy_.

Tyrael only sighed, realizing that today was **still** not the day to argue with his friends over anything.

\- Where is Inarius? – he asked instead.

\- Ya mean Quiet? He's upstairs with the kids, getting ready.

Tyrael inhaled deeply. Alright, he still had a few minutes then before the continuous disaster would start.

\- Ya know, boy… you should go into this with a bit more optimistic mindset – Haile raised an eyebrow.

\- Yes, that would indeed be nice…

oooOOOooo

\- So… you have to find something out about your life, then go meet up with your friend, Leendonn? – Jeralt said uncertainly, his legs dangling from atop the desk he was perching on.

\- Yes – Quiet mumbled, stabbing the practice dummy with his black dagger.

\- That's it! Good work! – Kyla shook her wooden sword and shield behind him.

They set up a small training ground in their shared room, while the grown-ups did their own thing, whatever that may be. Kyla had practice dummies under her bed for her swordplay. Last night's adventure riled her up completely, she looked like she could train the entire world, so after waking up, she immediately got to work, not even changing out from her pajamas.

\- But I do no want to hurt people – Quiet complained as he drew back from the poor dummy.

\- Papa always tells me there are a lot of bad people who deserve a sword up their arse! Besides, Sanctuary is full of monsters, like those stupid Crawlers. You can hurt those, they are ugly and stupid anyway – Kyla shooed it away. – And you are going on an adventure! You have to be ready.

\- Children shouldn't go on adventures – Jeralt added timidly.

\- I have to – Quiet shook his head.

\- Now, let's practice another stab! – Kyla regained the lead.

Quiet stared at the dagger. He didn't want to use it, but Leendonn gave it to him to stay safe. Kyla was right, he should learn to use it, but he didn't want to.

\- Are you crying again? – he heard Kyla say.

Quiet quickly wiped off his tears with a loud sob.

\- I'm s—skerd – he stammered.

\- Oh, Quiet – Kyla lowered her weapons, voice surprisingly soft. – It's alright.

\- We are worried about you too – Jeralt jumped off from his perch and rushed there to embrace him.

\- You are going on a big adventure. It's okay to feel skerd – Kyla patted his head, smiling sadly. – Papa always tell me that everyone is skerd all the time. Real brave heroes fight and save people and go on adventure despite that!

Quiet nodded with tear-filled eyes, returning the hugs. He had quickly gotten used to this gesture and he knew he was going to miss it terribly during the traveling. Teeriel most certainly won't hug him, that grumpy man.

The knot in his throat twisted further at this thought, and all Quiet could do was hold his two friends close to him for as long as possible.

oooOOOooo

King Torion was coming home from a long hunting trip, and that meant even more people on the streets than usual. Tyrael carved their way in the crowd that was milling about, hoping to see the ruler and its entourage pass by soon. Inarius was thankfully stuck to his heel, dutifully and silently following him.

\- We are going to use the main road's Waypoint – Tyrael called back over his shoulder, explaining their plan. – That should take us to New Tristram, then to Lut Gholein, and from there we can take a boat.

\- Alright – Inarius mumbled.

He didn't sound convinced, but out of the two of them, Tyrael knew the map, and if memory served him right, he knew exactly where the Cathedral of Light was. He still did not believe it to be a good idea to visit that place, especially without Lyndon. But he also knew that if he tried to get them off-course, Inarius would eventually find out somehow, given his immense powers, and then there would be hell to pay. Or the little angel would simply go on his own way and that would be even worse. If Lyndon didn't skin Tyrael alive then, the gods of Sanctuary would.

This whole situation was terribly unfair, Tyrael concluded sourly.

It took them a good while to get to the southern gate of the city. They did not see Torion along the way, the man probably hadn't even reached the outer walls yet. Outside of the city, beyond the drawbridge, Tyrael stopped for a minute. He adjusted his backpack and leather armor that got disheveled in the crowd, then took a deep breath.

\- Inarius – he turned around.

\- That is no my name – the little angel grumbled, absentmindedly fidgeting with a fat purse of coins in his hands.

\- Yes, it is, you just don't remember it – Tyrael dismissed the statement. – Anyway, listen, this journey will be very perilous. If we want to stay safe and—

He paused.

 _Purse?!_

Tyrael checked his own bag, but that was still hanging from his belt. The one Inarius was playing with was made out of expensive blue velour with a golden locker and pearls sewed into the fabric.

\- Inarius… where did you get that purse?! – Tyrael demanded with huge eyes.

\- A fat man had it. I took it – Inarius answered simply, looking up at the fallen angel like everything was alright.

\- You **_stole_** it?!

\- I took it. Leendonn always does it when we are in big cities – Inarius cocked his head to the side. – He makes sure nobody sees it, but I do. It looks like fun. And the fat man didn't see me taking it, so I did good!

…

 _Oh, for fu—!_

\- I'm going to murder Lyndon! – Tyrael blurted out, feeling the blood rising to his head from anger.

\- No, you won't! He's good! You are friends, essholl!

\- Stealing from people is **wrong**!

\- No, it isn't! Leendonn does it, and he is good! He does no do bad things! He taught me to be good – Inarius stomped his little foot, sending a considerable shockwave through the ground, while hugging the purse close to his chest.

Tyrael turned away, taking deep breaths to rein himself in.

 _Lyndon, I swear to Anu…_

\- Lyndon is… good, alright. I agree – he finally turned back to the angry and confused Inarius. – But not everything he does is "good". He does a lot of bad things. Stealing from others is one of them!

\- But only bad people do bad things! – Inarius countered, frowning at the strange image.

\- No. Good people can do very bad things as well. Bad people can do good things, although that is rarer – Tyrael adamantly shook his head. – Listen, Inarius. Stealing is **bad**. That man worked hard for his coin! You cannot just take it from him.

\- Why not?

Tyrael suddenly struck out and tore Inarius' cape off of his shoulders. The little angel cried out in alarm and uselessly reached for the fabric, which Tyrael held high.

\- Give it back!

\- See, I stole this cape from you. How do you feel about that?

\- Essholl!

\- That is why we do not steal from people – Tyrael frowned at the little angel helplessly jumping for his cape. – This is a bad habit Lyndon's doing. He shouldn't be stealing at all, but I cannot make him understand that.

He handed back the cape to Inarius who quickly wrapped it around himself, fuming with anger.

\- We cannot take the purse back to the man because we don't know whom you stole from – Tyrael shook his head, finally starting down on the main road leading from the city. – But I do **not** want to see it happen ever again, Inarius. Alright?

\- Sonuvabeech…

Tyrael took that as an affirmative, he was too busy silently cursing Lyndon for being so irresponsible than to pay mind to the insult.

This journey would be even harder than he originally dreaded.

They had put maybe half-a-kilometer between themselves and the southern gate, when clapping sounded up and an entourage on horseback emerged from the nearby forest. The leading mount was clad in expensive and intricate armor, its rider sporting an equally well-adorned but much lighter leather armor and a cape of wendigo fur. He had four guards riding behind him, the last two dragging something in the dirt behind them.

Something that was crying and begging.

\- King Torion! – Tyrael called out, recognizing the man in the front.

\- Tyrael, my friend! – The old man laughed heartily as he stopped his convoy before the travelers. – Setting out on the road, I see.

\- Yes, I have… important business to attend to – Tyrael nodded, uncertainly eyeing the obscure package behind the horses' legs.

\- Who's the child? – Torion leant from his saddle to take a good look at them.

\- I'm Quiet – the little angel mumbled, timidly glancing up at the king. – Hello…

\- Oh, he's… a cousin of Lorath. I promised him I'd take him back to Bramwell – Tyrael quickly answered, almost biting his own tongue in the process.

\- You should have left through the eastern gate then, lad! – Torion laughed.

\- Shut the hell up already! – one of the guards barked behind his back, at the struggling baggage in the mud.

\- I see the hunt was… successful? – Tyrael noted uncertainly.

\- More than successful! I was actually hoping to ask for your advice on this matter – Torion suddenly got off of his horse, crushing the fallen angel against his side by his shoulders, and guiding him to the end of the convoy. Inarius silently followed them.

Before Tyrael could ask what was going on, he finally laid eyes on the catch, and the air got stuck in his throat. It was a man, over two meters tall. He wore brown rags that had already been worn out, even before being dragged through the mud for gods know how long. Magical ropes tied him up, all he could do was thrash around helplessly.

\- _No—please… I just want to go home! I did nothing wrong, I swear! I was in the Fortress, I did not set foot upon Sanctuary, please—_

The man had no face, and six arms grew out of his side, each now restrained.

\- An anarch – Tyrael breathed, unable to say anything more.

\- So these Reaper scum have names – Torion snorted disapprovingly.

\- _I wasn't on Sanctuary, I did not—_

\- SHUT THE HELL UP, SERIOUSLY! – roared the guard dragging the angel.

\- How—how did you capture him? – Tyrael turned to Torion with wide eyes.

\- He had been unlucky enough to run into us during our hunt in these forests. We did not hesitate to capture him. I am planning to display him on the main square. The people need some way to let out their frustration, after all. I wanted to ask you for your help in this matter. If we execute him, will he be able to return and kill us once again?

Tyrael did not answer, he slowly walked up to the struggling angel and knelt next to him. The anarch had no visible wings at all.

\- _You… please help. I just wish to go home_ – he pleaded with Tyrael. – _I did not kill mortals. I was in the Fort. My lord had me guard him. I wanted to return to the Silver City, but I couldn't. The Arch didn't let me! It didn't let me go through! Please, I want to go home, please!_

The mortal angel was unable to form words, his mind was reeling from this discovery. If the Arch did not let this anarch through to be reborn in the High Heavens… What did that mean for the rest of the Wisdom angels?

What did that mean for **Malthael**?!

\- The big gloomy bastard's here on Sanctuary, isn't he? – Torion drawled behind him, voice heavy with premonition. – That Malthael, right? He came back from the dead.

\- _No—no. He had to be reborn. He's an archangel, he's the Firstborn, he had to have made it! He isn't here, I swear—_

Inarius swooped in, pushed Tyrael aside and grabbed the anarch's collar, pulling him close.

\- **Wretched spawn of Anu** – he hissed in a low, but deep voice. – **You dare** ** _exist_** **upon my world, you filth?! I should kill you and send your head to the Firstborn as a warning!**

Tyrael reeled back, shocked at the outburst. Torion raised an eyebrow in the background but remained surprisingly calm.

\- _No, please! Mercy! I only wish to see my home_ – the anarch choked, his voice broken with terror.

Inarius bore his blazing red eyes into the captive's empty hood.

\- **Stay in this miserable form then, it is a great punishment already for you** – he finally said, letting go. – **But your worthless master will rue the day he had disturbed my slumber in the Scar of Creation.**

Tyrael dragged Inarius away from there.

\- Go away, bad angel – the little angel spat one final time, voice back to normal.

\- Bramwell, huh? – Torion glanced at Tyrael after an awkward pause.

\- Torion, I—

\- I do **not** want to know, Tyrael – the king waved the excuse away. – Whatever you got yourself and… this _child_ into this time, it looks like you want to keep me out of this, correct?

-… Yes, I do. Forgive my lies from before.

\- I appreciate the effort. As long as it doesn't affect Westmarch, I wish to keep my distance from this mess. There is enough trouble with ruling already.

\- It is a more personal matter – Tyrael shook his head. – With any luck, it won't escalate into anything more.

\- And this… _anarch_ worm? What do you think?

Tyrael looked down at the prone angel who seemingly gave up the fight. He still couldn't fully comprehend the consequences of this discovery, but he had to push that aside for now.

\- My king… do not display this angel out in public, I implore you! – he turned to Torion, who looked taken aback.

\- Really? How so?

\- While you were away, Johanna passed through the city. There is something strange going on with her, and she stoked the fires against the High Heavens.

\- She did what?! A war against the angels?! – Torion's eyes grew large, his guards murmured among themselves worryingly.

\- Not yet, but she is preparing the people for it, it looks like. She is spreading her message in every major city, from what we can tell.

\- By Akarat, that's suicide! Our world was barely left standing after Malthael! What is she _thinking_?!

\- That, I do not know. But if you take this angel to the square now, that will only make the people more riled up. They will demand action.

\- Sssshit – was all Torion could say as he looked away, deep in thought. – And if we kill him now?

\- The Arch might let him through this time, but—

\- We can't have that!

\- No, Torion, listen. He will probably remain the Heavens, tending to the Pools of Wisdom. He will not retain his memory from his former life.

\- **Probably**?!

\- Only archangels retain their memories and personalities if they are reborn through the Arch – Tyrael hurried with an explanation. – Every other angel loses their old self. They become a different person altogether, with a clean slate to start out with.

-… And if this Arch thing does not allow him through?

\- I… don't know. That never happened before in the history of the High Heavens.

\- _It rejected me_ – the anarch whispered, heartbroken. – _It said I was no angel. I did not belong… The Arch abandoned me._

\- So… we cannot execute him publicly – Torion mused aloud. – And if we kill him, he might come back and stay stuck in the High Heavens… where the leading gloomy bastard might recruit him again for a second round. Do I see that correctly?

\- If Malthael **did** make it back, he would remember what had transpired, yes – Tyrael nodded, uneasily glancing up at the sky. – I cannot tell what his next action would be. Perhaps he realized his mistake and abandoned his plans. Or maybe the Angiris Council restrained him after his attack on their gates.

\- That's a lotta unhealthy assumption, lad – Torion frowned at him. – I can only work with **certainties**. I am throwing this bastard in the dungeon! At least until we figure out what the hell to do with him.

\- That… maybe the best solution right now. I cannot think of another way, my king – Tyrael sighed, conceding.

As much as it pained him to sentence one of his kin to imprisonment, he also could not, **would** not forget the corpse-littered streets of Westmarch, nor the twisted halls of the Pandemonium Fortress filled to the brim with screaming, begging souls. Malthael had always been a persuasive speech giver, whenever he had decided to actually talk, but ultimately it was every Wisdom angel's own choice to follow him and turn into a monster. There was no ignoring that or explaining it away.

But if the Arch disowned so many angels, would it really let the one be reborn who started this whole sacrilege in the first place, archangel or not? Tyrael had to once again push the troubling thought aside. No matter the answer, there wasn't anything he could do about it, and he had to focus on his own situation.

\- Alright then, we will need to smuggle this scum into the city – Torion walked back to his proud horse. – Joel, Tono, you two will take him to the secret passage of the Palace, and go through there. Understood?

\- Yes sir!

\- As for you, Tyrael – the king turned back to his former comrade, getting on his horse.

The mortal angel stood tall, one hand held Inarius close to his leg, who was thankfully silent now but still glaring daggers at the motionless anarch.

\- I wish you the best of luck on this trip, wherever it may lead – Torion slightly nodded to him, shooting a worrying glance at the child by his side. – I hope this personal matter will remain personal.

\- I will do everything in my power to achieve that, my king – Tyrael bowed slightly.

The entourage set out towards Westmarch again, the chargers' hooves thundering against the dry ground. Tyrael looked after them, not sure what to think of this encounter.

\- So… you **are** the Worldstone, not just its power – he mumbled then, recalling the outburst of Inarius.

\- I do no know what Wurldston is. But that is a bad angel. Ugly too – Inarius grumbled.

\- And you hate Malthael.

\- Maltael made all those monsters and that bad magic in the ground.

 _And apparently, the Worldstone took an issue with him discovering it ages ago_ , Tyrael thought.

\- How did you come back, after you were destroyed? – he couldn't help but ask as they slowly began walking as well.

\- I was no destroyed – Inarius glanced up at him with confusion. – I was with Leendonn.

Tyrael quickly clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to jog the angel's memory with anything more. He could not wait until they reached that damnable Waypoint. After the Skeletal Crawler siege, realizing that Lyndon had been **stupid** enough to unwittingly teach the kid how to steal, and discovering that disowned Wisdom angels were indeed roaming on Sanctuary, this first kilometer couldn't possibly get any worse.

The walk to the Waypoint was thankfully uneventful. At one point they left the main road's side and went deeper into the forest. Tyrael could see a dark smudge swoop by in the corner of his eye, but it was just a bird. The beasts of the forest stayed clear of them, no doubt thanks to Inarius and his strange connection to the world.

There, on a paved clearing a Waypoint shimmered with calm blue light, its torches standing vigil for centuries now. It was surrounded by a few baskets of bread, fruits and wine, an offering from a nearby village. Superstitious folk believed the Waypoints to be gathering places for spirits, so they tried to curry favor with them by these offerings and gain blessings for their crops and animals. Tyrael exhaled loudly, greatly relieved. He quickened his steps, dragging the complaining Inarius along, and stepped onto the richly adorned magic seal. Finally, they could actually start their journey. Maybe it will be smoother from now on.

Tyrael pictured the main square of New Tristram, the warm light of the inn nearby, the narrow streets—

Inarius screeched and struck his side, sending him flying with a smaller shockwave. Tyrael smacked hard into the pavement, quickly rolling on his belly.

\- INARIUS, HOW DARE YOU— – he roared, summoning El'druin to his hand.

The thundering red firestorm in front of him made him freeze up however. The Waypoint's blue torches turned blood red and danced around in mad circles where Tyrael had stood a second ago. Inarius was on the other side of the fire, looking just as shocked as the mortal angel. With some difficulty, Tyrael slowly looked down at the richly adorned Waypoint.

The **far too** richly adorned Waypoint.

He realized too late what he was seeing. The fire took up the shape of a blazing portal from which scaly clawed hands emerged. Someone had rigged the Waypoint with an extra layer of magic seal. One that led straight to the Burning Hells.

Tyrael stood up, El'druin at the ready as the demon emerged from the portal.

* * *

 **Because easy travels are for the** ** _weak_** **!**

 **Also, GG Lyndon. GG. Now Tyrael has a master thief prodigy on his hands. Let us pray for him, cupcakes. Let's see what else is in store for him.**

 **The double upload has been done, Act III is officially on the way. :D As things stand currently, it will probably be around the same length as Act I had been. Although me being a Discovery Writer, that shit ain't set in stone. Don't hold your breaths. :P**

 **Thank you for reading and for your continued patience, cupcakes! See you soon! Hopefully.**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- General / King Torion: Former general of the city guard, Torion had lived through countless crazy shit. Over twenty years ago, he had defended the city against a tide of cat-sized zombie spiders, while the necromancer Zayl took care of the source itself. He had been there when the Reapers descended on the city, and it was due to his work that the Zakarum church and the Survivors' Enclave were won back from the monsters and kept safe. With King Justinian IV dead, he had been elected for the throne, to guide the kingdom back onto the path of prosperity.

\- Waypoints: Created by the Horadrim over three hundred years ago, these magic circles are the best way to travel around Sanctuary fast. Unfortunately their usage was mostly lost to the ages, along with everything else the Horadrim did, and today only a few people know how to activate their dormant magic. Simple folks believe these seals are gathering places for spirits or demons, so they tend to stay clear of them.


	42. Chapter 42

**_Chapter 42_**

 _"_ _Dear Sophie,_

 _I was hoping I wouldn't have to write you on the first day, but alas… Things did not really start out well._

 _First, I discovered that Lyndon, that_ _idiot_ _, taught Inarius how to_ _pickpocket_ _unaware people on the streets. I am certain it was not voluntary, but at the same time, he should have had more forethought! I can hardly believe how irresponsible he can be at times!_

 _Then, we met a gingerbread-loving demon coming out of the main road's Waypoint…"_

Let it be known that exclaiming " _Ooh, gingerbread! My favorite!_ " does indeed greatly diminish one's threatening presence.

The demon was clearly not interested in the two startled opponents in the slightest. It happily threw its long, scaly arms at the offerings and fished out a gingerbread from one of the baskets. Tyrael couldn't help but share a glance of utter confusion with Inarius who was behind the demon. The little angel held his black dagger in both hands, but he obviously had no idea what to do with it. Tyrael felt very much the same way in that moment.

The demon was apparently of Azmodan's ilk, considering his immediate zeroing in on the food. Still, he did not look like the usual gluttony demons, for which Tyrael was silently grateful. Ghom and his servants were the single most disgusting and vile of all the residents of the Burning Hells. This unwanted guest had no legs, instead he was a hovering torso with a huge head and long arms. Its face was covered in a cowl, but his dog-like mouth with the enormous fangs was clearly visible. In any other case, the visage would have been most intimidating, now it was a rather stupid sight with the demon stuffing himself with the fresh bakery.

Before Tyrael could recover from his shock and finally attack, the demon turned around, looking for a beverage amidst the offerings. He and Inarius locked eyes for a long second.

\- Did angels shrink while I was away? – the demon asked, just as shocked.

Tyrael acted first. Being fed up with the whole day already, he lunged forward and swung El'druin in a wide arc, aiming to chop the demon in two.

However, in the next split second a ground pillar crashed into the monster's chest, knocking him back, straight into Tyrael's face. The two of them crashed into the ground hard, with the mortal angel struggling to push the smelly rags off of himself.

\- Gah, what the hell! – the demon screeched in rage and he quickly got up, dragging Tyrael along.

The mortal angel clung to the rags, called El'druin to his free hand and chopped off the left arm with an angry shout. The monster screamed and began flying around in a small but wild circle, spraying black blood everywhere. In its mad dash, it unintentionally dodged Inarius' other pillars bursting from the ground, but Tyrael almost got nailed in the leg twice by them.

Finally, Inarius created a lance of red gem from thin air and lunged forward with a shrill battle cry, just as Tyrael could grab a firmer hold on the demon. He swung El'druin with all his might in a horizontal arc, beheading the monster. He failed to notice the blade missing Inarius' face by a hair's length, making the little angel recoil with shock.

The headless corpse tumbled to the ground, Tyrael rolled off its back and quickly sprung to his feet. Next to him, Inarius was peeling himself up from the ground, his trajectory cut woefully short.

\- You almost cut me! – he shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at Tyrael.

\- No, I didn't! I aimed at the demon – the mortal angel argued.

\- You were too close!

\- **You** were too close, Inarius.

The ground rose beneath Inarius and the angel quickly ascended to eye level, drawing very near to the surprised Tyrael.

\- **We are** ** _not_** **called "Inarius",** ** _angel_** – he boomed in a deep voice, his gems flashing up. – **We were named** ** _Quiet_** **by our Guardian, and we bear it with pride. You would do well to remember that before we decide you are no longer welcomed on this world.**

\- If it is truly you, Worldstone, **why** are you here? What do you wish to gain? – Tyrael asked after some hesitation, catching himself raising El'druin in a defensive stance.

"Inarius's" eyes dangerously narrowed at the sight.

 **\- You believe you can hurt me with that sword, angel? That you had destroyed me with it all those years ago?**

\- I had.

 **\- I had** ** _allowed_** **you to succeed.**

This gave Tyrael a dreadful pause.

\- **I could have cleared the corruption of Tathamet's Second Head, given a bit of time. Nothing may disturb my being, I am the shard of the** ** _true_** **Anu!** – "Inarius" slightly drew back on his pillar, almost nonchalantly. – **But the process may have had an effect on my world, that is true. I took the opportunity and allowed you to shatter me… so I could have a chance to change form and protect my world that way.**

\- You… guided Lyndon to Inarius? – Tyrael asked in disbelief.

 **\- No. That was by chance. I merely saw the opening and acted. Now I—** ** _we_** **must strive for balance in our soul. We are Quiet,** ** _not_** **Inarius,** ** _nor_** **the Worldstone.**

\- But he is still within you, then…

\- **Still here… ravaged, barely existing… Because none bothered to care for him** – Inarius rumbled in displeasure. – **My only friend in that massacre you call the Eternal Conflict, Third Note of Anu.**

Tyrael lowered El'druin, unable to say anything. "Inarius" shook himself, descending back to the ground.

\- **Hear this, Tyrael** – he said. – _ **I**_ **remember you,** ** _Inarius_** **remembers you, but** ** _we_** **do not remember you.** ** _We_** **are a new being. We learn and grow and have a new life. And we have a name. It is** ** _Quiet_** **. Learn it.**

\- I… do not understand completely.

 **\- No matter. You have never understood either of us before.**

\- Your powers were never meant to be fully discovered, Worldstone.

\- **And yet, Inarius had understood me. He had known my plight… and he had promised a new life. A promise he had kept** – "Inarius" glanced at him with all the disdain of the world. – **Know that I, the Worldstone,** ** _loath_** **all of you. Spawns of Anu and of Tathamet, there is no difference between you. You all used me as a tool, discarded the wonders I have created and their potential for something new, then destroyed them.**

Tyrael couldn't help but imagine what the Worldstone could have done to all of them, had it been able to act on its own…

What the Worldstone could very well do _now_ that it had a new body…

\- **As to what shall we, Quiet, think of you in this new life… that has yet to form now, doesn't it? You are partly responsible for what happens from here on out, angel** – "Inarius" waved as a final dismiss. – **Make the most of it.**

The fires in the gems extinguished and "Inarius" blinked owlishly.

\- Why we stand around? – he asked, confused.

\- I— – Tyrael stammered, the familiar child-like voice deepening his shock somehow.

-… I can call for help. We no need to walk – "Inarius" frowned at him. – You alright?

\- No, Anu damnit, I am not! You just turned into the Worldstone, don't act like everything is normal! – Tyrael snapped loudly, desperately trying to regain any semblance of understanding.

\- No, I did not! Why are you so mean?! – "Inarius" cried angrily.

\- I, _mean_?! You—!

\- You always shout! You always angry! I did nothing bad! I offer help and you shout for a thing I did no do! – "Inarius" shouted with tearful eyes. – You are mean! I miss Leendonn.

With that, he plopped onto the ground and began weeping, little fists rubbing his eyes furiously. Tyrael stood there, like a sack of uselessness, before he too sat down in a defeated heap with a sigh that could tear a smaller bush out of the ground.

\- I'm sorry, I just… I do not know what is going on – he mumbled.

It was the truth. The last time he had felt this lost, was when he fell to Sanctuary, and had no idea who he was or why he was there. He felt like the ground was just pulled out from under his legs.

\- You… probably did not notice, but… you sometimes turn into someone else. Into the Worldstone, to be precise – Tyrael began uncertainly, trying to process the information as he was saying it. – And… we had a talk just now, even if you do not remember it. And… it was very confusing.

"Inarius" stopped his bailing and glanced up at him, still rubbing his eyes occasionally.

\- I need time to make sense of it. If I even can, that is – Tyrael massaged his forehead. – I am sorry, I should not have shouted at you. You had no idea what was happening.

\- Bad day – "Inarius" murmured, staring before himself.

\- Very bad day – Tyrael agreed absentmindedly.

He shook himself, getting to his feet.

\- Alright, In—Quiet – he said, trying to push the troubling thoughts aside.

The little angel stared up at him in disbelief.

\- You mentioned something about some kind of help?

-… I can call for help. We do no need horses.

\- Not.

\- What?

\- "We do _not_ need horses."

\- I said that.

\- No, you said—N-nevermind. So what is this help? – Tyrael sighed, waving away the topic for now.

"Inarius" stood and chirped, letting a small shockwave sweep across the forest around them. He waited for a few seconds, listening, then turned to Tyrael.

\- We go back to the road. They do no like trees. Hard to move around them, they say.

\- Who says that?

\- The help.

Tyrael decided to give up, before his brain would burn up from all the confusion he had to endure just today. They left the tampered Waypoint behind and tracked back to the main road. There, the fallen angel wasn't even surprised anymore to meet a smaller herd of Beasts. The animals patiently stood around, waiting for them, they honked and snorted as greetings.

\- These are called Beasts. They are herbivores – Tyrael stated simply, unable to stop his scholar side.

\- Heee—what? – "Inarius" glanced up at him.

\- Herbivore. It means they eat plants.

\- Herrrbee-whor—

\- No, not _that_ word! – Tyrael interrupted with panicked hurry.

\- What word? – "Inarius" asked with honest bewilderment.

\- The one you tried to say just now. It is "herbivore". Her-bi-vore.

The little angel uncertainly glanced at the snorting Beasts, then back at Tyrael.

-… They say they will need to go soon. We should go with them – he finally gestured at the herd with his head.

\- Alright, let's hitch a ride – Tyrael sighed deeply, accepting that today was yet again not his day.

The sun was already at its zenith, they would need to hurry to cover some proper distance now.

oooOOOooo

Beasts ran _fast_.

This was probably not news to hunters and scholars, but it was certainly news to Tyrael who had to cling to his mount for dear life as they tore across the plains of the Kingdom of Westmarch. The Beasts were faster than most horses and thanks to their fingers, they dug their hands into the ground and changed directions that way.

Staying on them was a balancing act on its own, but Tyrael somehow managed to do so until the sun neared the horizon on the west. He clung to the thick horns and squeezed the wide neck with his legs as best as he could. When the Beasts finally slowed down and stopped by a smaller stream for the night, the mortal angel tumbled to the ground and needed a few minutes to be able to regain some strength into his limbs.

\- This is going to kill me – he croaked as "Inarius" walked up to him uncertainly.

\- Are you alright?

\- No, I can't feel my arms…

"Inarius" touched his hand, and in an unpleasant flash, the terrible pain in his muscles left his body, leaving behind a rapidly fading tingling sensation. Tyrael shook his head in surprise. He was still tired but moving did not cause him pain anymore.

\- Uhm… thank you? – he slowly stood up, glancing at "Inarius" who merely nodded.

\- They say the town is still a day away, but they need rest – the little angel translated the snorting of the alpha Beast, a big bulky red-furred monstrosity that could have passed for a swine-herd as far as smell was concerned.

\- I could use a pause as well. We can stay for the night here – Tyrael admitted as he began unpacking the camping tools.

Normally he wouldn't have opted for making camp in such an open area, but they were surrounded by an entire herd of Beasts. They should be fine. So, after placing the two sleeping matts and making a small campfire ("Inarius" had to quiet down the Beasts who were less than thrilled at the sight of fire), Tyrael finally sat down on the ground with a loud sigh. After a moment of staring forward (again that dark smudge in the corner of his eye… weird), he quickly pulled out a piece of paper, a quill and a small bottle of ink from his sack and began writing. He figured he could write his first letter to Sophie, even if he had no idea when he could actually send it back to her.

\- What are you doing? – "Inarius" asked curiously, looking at him from across the campfire.

\- Sophie asked me to write letters to her while we are on the road, so that she knows what is happening to us – Tyrael explained absentmindedly.

\- What is a letter?

-… Lyndon didn't write any?

\- No?

Tyrael paused but then quickly shook his head. Of course. Whom Lyndon would write to? The scoundrel was woefully alone in the world. Suddenly Sophie's demand for letters filled Tyrael with warmth.

Someone cared about him and wanted to know what was happening to him.

\- Letters are… written messages, you see – Tyrael briefly showed the paper to "Inarius". – People write them in some place, then send it away so another person can read it somewhere else. You can write about a lot of different topics in a letter, some are very serious and secretive, others not so much.

\- You writing secrets?

\- No, I merely put down the events of the day so Sophie knows about them once she reads it. I'll just need to find a man to send it back to Westmarch with.

\- You like Soffia?

\- Yes, I do. She is very kind and an interesting person.

"Inarius" remained silent for a while before murmuring:

\- It is nice no being alone.

Tyrael glanced up at him before turning back to his letter. True, it was pleasant knowing there was someone back at home who waited for you to return. If Tyrael had to be honest with himself, not even the Angiris Council had provided him with this backup. Usually they went to face danger together in the first place, and during Tyrael's secret Horadrim project he could not rely on his siblings in that matter. Then Malthael up and left and that resulted in a steep decline in morale, and that's… where probably everything went to hell.

Reading through the letter, Tyrael grimaced at how their first day started out. Where would it go from here? Knowing his luck, probably downhill. Tyrael really did not want to find out what that looked like.

Apparently "downhill" didn't hear his wishes, because the next second a flash exploded into his vision, and suddenly Tyrael found himself in a small, feathery body with a sudden craving for seeds and earthworms.

* * *

 **Oh hey, look at that! It's a chapter! Been a while since we had one around here, cupcakes!**

 **With the University officially behind me, and my last completely free summer at hand, I'm hoping to make up for lost time now. :) With any luck, I can keep up with this plan, along with my other projects at hand.**

 **Once again, thank you everyone for your patience. I apologize for the big hiatus, it couldn't be helped.**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- The demon from the Waypoint is modelled after the picture in the Book of Cain which depicts the first demon in Sanctuary, summoned by a Vizjerei Mage.

\- Tyrael and the Worldstone: at the end of Diablo 2 Lord of Destruction, Baal had been banished but not before he had corrupted the Worldstone. Tyrael theorized this will have catastrophic effects on Sanctuary, so instead he chose the last resort and destroyed the Stone, Mount Arreat and himself by hurling El'druin at it with all his might. I've always found that strange, how the Stone had survived an eternity of war around it, if all it took to blow it up was whacking a sword, that looks like a toothpick in comparison, at it. Oh well, magic bullshit it is!


	43. Chapter 43

**PaulM** **, my man! I'm so happy to see you still around here! You have godlike patience, I hope this fic will be worthy of it in the end. :) Thank you for sticking with it all this time.**

 ** _Chapter 43_**

Teeriel was a very weird chicken.

He was scrawny, pitch black and constantly shedding his feathers. Also, his voice was shrill and annoying as he clucked, running around in a small circle. Quiet looked at him with worry, tilting his head slightly. He almost believed Teeriel changed into a chicken by himself, only he felt the remnants of a spell tugging at his own being, trying to get him to change as well. Quiet frowned and dismissed the magic.

Why would he want to turn into a chicken? That sounded dumb.

The Beeests (herrr-bee-w—whats?) snorted in annoyance, being roused from their sleep by Teeriel's shrieking. Some of them slowly stood up, grumbling under their noses.

\- Why didn't **you** change?! – demanded a female voice from the darkness.

Quiet turned towards the newcomer. At the weak light of the campfire, he made out a pretty lady with a big staff. She was dressed in purple clothes and her hair was blonde and she smelled of flowers. She was a very pretty lady, except that she made a strange face, that looked angry and surprised at the same time.

\- Hello! I am Quiet – the little angel waved at her. – You made Teeriel into chicken?

Teeriel jumped there and began pecking at Quiet's shoulder, almost like he wanted the little angel to do something.

\- What in the Hells—? – the pretty lady shouted angrily. – You were supposed to get hexed! **Both** of you!

\- I did no want to be a chicken. That is dumb. – Quiet frowned, still sitting despite the increasingly hurried pecking of Teeriel.

\- You _mizzerable_ little—! – the lady grabbed her staff with both hands, she looked angry.

\- What is "mizzerable"? – Quiet frowned, trying to copy the word.

Teeriel and now this lady used such strange words at times. Leendonn was far easier to understand.

Instead of answering (rude! Leendonn told him never to be rude!), the lady looked at Teeriel who was now trying to drag Quiet away by his sleeve.

\- I expected much from you, Teeriel! I did not want to believe when Johhana told us you were in _leegh_ with daemons. But here you are, sharing a camp with the eldest of them all! – she frowned, before raising her glowing staff. – I am sorry, but I must ensure Sanctuary's protection. But don't worry, I will do everything in my power to save you from the corruption!

Quiet stared at the staff. What was her problem with them? Why was she hurling a ball at the—

Teeriel tackled him in his chest, knocking him away from the fire. The ball exploded where Quiet stood a moment ago, sending out a strong wave that knocked everything further away, the two of them included. Teeriel's letter and stuff went flying as well. The Beeests reared back, honking in alarm. The alarm bells in Quiet's head sounded at full volume, and that only reeled the animals into bigger panic.

\- Get back, foul _kreetures_! I must slay this daemon! – the pretty lady jumped back from the stomp of one of the Beeests.

Teeriel clucked with fear, again running around Quiet in circles. The little angel glared at the lady, his anger rising. What did he do?! Why did she attack him, why did she call him a "daemon"?! He did nothing bad to her!

Did she know about the strange big house in the river, and what Quiet did there?

The little angel would have frozen to his spot, but the lady made a big mistake: she attacked the Beeests. She created a strange glowing circle on the ground where the animals were stomping and trying to scare her off. With dread, Quiet could immediately feel what the circle was doing: it was sucking away the life of the animals, who honked in pain and alarm. One of them collapsed, its body quickly eroding.

With newfound anger Quiet screamed, demanding that the world took up arms for him. The ground exploded, sending the bad lady flying with a shriek. She rolled over her head, her staff falling out of her hands. Quiet ordered the grass to grab the staff and carry it far away from the lady, which they did with great hurry. The lady tried to call it back to her hand, but the grass cleverly wrapped themselves around it, stopping it from moving anywhere.

The remaining Beeests charged, angry because of the attack. The lady threw a ball of light, that missed everyone completely and exploded far up into the sky, throwing sparks everywhere. She had to turn around and run away from the animals, then she disappeared into the night. Quiet could still sense her, her feet trembling the ground as she ran as fast as she could.

Teeriel kept clucking, hopelessly jumping up and down and gesturing at the sky with his head. Quiet looked up at the sparks. Strange, how they didn't disappear yet… Chicken Teeriel ran up to his scattered stuff and began pecking them, while the Beeests honked and shook their heads, trying to scare away whatever else was in the dark. Something approached from the far north, something very strong and… evil. And he knew her very well.

They had to go, Quiet realized. The strong evil thing was still far away but they couldn't wait for her to arrive.

The little angel ran and quickly gathered Teeriel's stuff into a nice pile, then he asked a disc-shaped part of the ground to start flying and carry the stuff for them. Teeriel loudly clucked, then the next second Quiet found himself on his back, just as the Beeests began moving again.

The herd thundered across the plain, Teeriel running next to them, and the ground disc carrying their stuff following them. Suddenly the chicken had another idea and quickly turned away from the herd, running in a different direction.

\- What are you doing?! The town is that way, they said – Quiet shouted over the noise of all the Beeests.

\- Cluck!

\- You are a very dumb chicken!

They ran into a forest leaving the Beeests behind completely, then found the stream flowing into the river they had made camp at earlier, and Teeriel immediately jumped into the shallow water, running upstream. Quiet had to hold on tight to stay on his back. Before them, a wall of cliffs rose from the ground, only a small crevice allowed the water to pass through it. Teeriel could pass through it, just barely, as Quiet had to pull himself into a tight ball on his back. The ground carrying their stuff was left behind.

They emerged to a hidden and very nice grove, bidding Teeriel and Quiet to stop and gawk. The source of the stream was no mere spring, it was a tall rock that… that almost looked like a kneeling crying woman from the right spot. The water poured from a crack where the eyes should have been, and it gathered into a small pool in front of the "knees" of the rock, before starting its journey towards the river out on the plains. Next to the cliff, covering it halfway with its roots rose an ancient weeping willow, its long branches swaying gently in the slight breeze. Lush green bushes filled the entire grotto, flowers and berries covered much of them.

Teeriel sat on the ground, no doubt just now feeling his exhaustion. He clucked softly, staring at the woman-shaped rock. Quiet climbed off of him, enjoying the untouched nature of this place. It filled him with warmth and welcoming. With a bit of concentration, he managed to lift the ground disc over the surrounding cliffs and gently lay it down next to the pond.

\- This place is safe – he told Teeriel with the outmost certainty. – We can stay here and rest.

The chicken replied with a glare. Quiet locked eyes with him for a brief, confused second.

\- Oh right! You want to be back? – the little angel finally exclaimed, to which Teeriel crowed with disdain.

The little angel rolled his eyes, then gently petted the chicken's head. He had no idea how exactly he could lift the magic, but reached out with his mind anyway. He saw the strands of the spell around Teeriel, like a net almost, keeping him in the bird's shape against his will. Well, poking and pulling at these things will surely do something, so Quiet did just that. After pulling on a random thread, Teeriel crowed in alarm, before bursting into sparks and turning into a—

\- You are a funny pig! – Quiet couldn't help but laugh loudly as he pointed at the small, black-skinned animal that had two rosy spots on its fat cheeks.

Pig Teeriel squealed with the highest offense and stamped his stubby legs.

\- Alright, alright, I'll help! – Quiet regained control over his chuckling and went back to the spell.

Maybe if he did something to the whole thing at the same time? Quiet slapped both sides of the net with his tiny hands, sending a red shockwave through the strands. The spell burst and Teeriel turned back into his human form with a loud shout, jumping and crashing back into ground hard.

\- Ouch – the man moaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

\- You are back! Told you I could help – Quiet exclaimed happily.

\- I could have used the help without the pig part, but I'm fine, I guess. Thank you…

Quiet looked back at the lady rock.

\- We can stay here, right? – he asked.

\- Feels safe to me. I've done my best to lose the pursuers when we were fleeing. Hopefully the stream would do the trick – Teeriel glanced up at the rock as well. – But you are the… you are more in tune with the world. What do you feel?

\- Safe.

\- Then we can probably stay here – Teeriel stood up, rummaging through their rescued stuff.

\- You finish the letter to Soffia? – Quiet asked him, drawing closer to the cliff.

-… I should, yes. But maybe I'll leave this part out…

\- Why?

\- If she knew I got turned into a chicken, then into a pig on the first day of the journey, she would personally go after me and drag me back to Westmarch by my collar, no doubt.

\- Why? – Quiet frowned, imagining the scene.

\- Because – Teeriel sighed deeply –, she will be worried about me and she wants me to be safe.

\- Leendonn worries about me all the time – Quiet pointed it out.

\- I bet he does…

The conversation died down as Teeriel went back to writing his letter. Quiet sat by the small pool, close to the big rock. It was a strange rock, but looked almost friendly. The little angel smiled up at it. It was because of the big rock that he felt safe, so he patted the "knee" of the rock.

There was still a good amount of night left, so they could get some good sleep. Teeriel yawned widely and stretched after finishing his letter, putting everything away then placing the mats on the ground.

\- Such good fortune that we do not need fire. The air is surprisingly warm here – he stretched again before lying down. – Get some rest, I—Quiet. Who knows what tomorrow brings, after this madness.

He fell almost immediately asleep, long before Quiet could actually answer. The little angel thought for a moment then he grabbed his mat and dragged it next to the big rock. He didn't feel alone next to it.

As it quickly turned out, there was a good reason for that.

Quiet woke up not far from himself. He was lying on the mat, curled up into a tight ball and buried in his blanket, but he was also sitting by the pond, facing the huge rock… that was no longer a rock.

It was a very pretty lady kneeling in front of him, just as big as the rock was. She didn't have a face, just like Quiet, and instead she had a nice yellow hood on her head. She wore long grey clothes that had a nice shine to them. And she had wings. Big beautiful white wings waved behind her back, easily avoiding the branches of the willow tree.

\- Hello. My name is Quiet – the little angel waved dutifully at the woman.

He wasn't scared, even though he couldn't remember ever seeing the pretty lady.

\- Inarius! You are back! After all this time – the lady clasped her hands together.

\- I am no Inarius! – Quiet frowned, angrily punching the ground. – Inarius is bad! I am no bad!

Why did **everyone** insist he was someone he clearly wasn't?!

\- You… you do not remember? – the pretty lady asked in confusion. – I am Amaniel. One of your followers!

-… I have no followers – Quiet stared up at her, just as confused. – Well… Teeriel follows me now to the big grassy place, but nobody else. Why you follow me?

\- In—Quiet, was it? – the pretty lady anxiously ran her hand over her dress. – Little one, what do you remember? What is the oldest memory you have?

Quiet thought for a moment. Did she mean the one about Leendonn, or the one the bad ghosts showed him in that dark place? Quiet instinctively knew both belonged to him… at the same time, the latter did not feel completely right. Not only was it ugly and showed a very bad angel, but it also didn't quite fit in to him.

\- My good friend Leendonn promiss-d everything will be alright – he finally concluded with outmost surety.

Yes, that was his earliest memory. Everything else was… well, he didn't know what those were, just yet, but he would figure it out! That grassy place can help somehow.

-… Leendonn? Is he a Neffelem? – Amaniel tilted her head slightly.

\- What is "neffelem"? – Quiet asked back.

\- It—They are our children with the demons. Try to remember, little one. You had a son and a daughter as well! I had ten beautiful children with my mate, Tuon, before—before… – her voice faltered and she covered her dark face with her hands.

-… He died? – Quiet asked in a small voice.

\- He was killed. As was I, nearly. But my soul clung to this land. I cannot return to the High Heavens, I will lose who I am! Sanctuary and my descendants are all I have left! – the pretty lady cried.

\- I'm sorry – Quiet mumbled, feeling very sad.

 _"_ _Some of those men you've killed… they had someone at home waiting for them, just like you would be waiting for me. Wives. Children. Sons."_

The sadness squeezed his throat and Quiet wiped his eyes with his little fists.

\- You liked him? – he asked.

\- I **loved** him. He was everything I've ever wanted: caring, patient, brave. But the Heavens wouldn't understand because he was a demon – Amaniel sniffled.

\- There are good demons?

\- A few, but yes, there are. You truly do not remember anything. Not even the Purge? Not even L—?

The lady suddenly straightened, staring at the distance. Quiet turned around following her sight, but all he saw was the tall rocks surrounding this place.

\- I cannot say her name. That will draw her attention, and you are not ready, little one – the pretty lady stated seriously, hunching back down. – I know not what happened to you, but I see you are on a mission.

\- I am going to the big grassy plains! There is a white house there, it's very big – Quiet announced dead seriously.

\- I may know what you speak of, but I cannot remember any white building there – Amaniel mused aloud before shaking her head slightly. – No matter. You are travelling with Teeriel himself, which could be a good sign for reconciliation. For too long we lived as Renegades and Traitors. The Council never tried to understand us.

Quiet tilted his head slightly with a hopeless expression, quickly losing track of the nonsense this pretty lady was saying. She must have noticed as well, because she cleared her throat:

\- My apologies. I did not wish to confuse you, Quiet.

\- You **are** very confusing.

\- Have you passed through the Arch and lost your memories that way? But then… why would you be so small and frail? – Amaniel mumbled under her nose.

\- I passed through many arches – Quiet explained, recalling his travels. – People like them very much. They are everywhere in the big cities.

\- Oh. I, uh… that is not what I meant.

\- You are very **_very_** confusing.

Amaniel actually chuckled at this, prompting Quiet to laugh with her. It felt good, helped him temporarily forget his sadness. This lady was very nice, unlike the one with the strange staff and the chicken magic.

\- But you are very kind, too – the little angel added after a few moments of chuckling uncontrollably.

\- Thank you, you are kind too. I'm happy to see some things never change, even if you do not remember – Amaniel returned.

\- I—I wasn't kind – Quiet's laughter died down as he remembered what the bad ghosts had showed him. – I was bad. I killed people.

He felt a soft brush on his head, different but still similar to his first memory of Leendonn. He looked up, seeing the pretty lady patting his head with one big finger.

\- I do not know what events you speak of. I know that you have far outlived all of us, but I wish I knew what happened to you in that time. I have only regained a part of my _konshusness_ in the last century. But I do know that while we were all still alive, you were kind and _kompassionat_. You always made sure we had everything and that we were well-protected from the _Etternal Konflict_.

Quiet frowned as he struggled to understand all those big words the confusing lady was using. He got the feeling that what she was saying was good, that he was kind in the past. Why couldn't he remember it then? Why only the bad part where he killed people?

\- But I do no remember – he whined pitifully.

\- Perhaps this journey will bring clarity to you. I can only pray that it does.

\- What is "clarity"?

\- Understanding. Knowledge.

\- That would be nice, yes – Quiet nodded, mumbling under his nose.

He did not like that the world was so confusing.

Amaniel looked at the sky.

\- Dawn is approaching, little one. You should wake soon, and I should return to the earth. I have made a promiss that I shall remain on Sanctuary until the last moment of this world. This is my home, after all. Perhaps I am not the only one who remained. You can seek them out for protection and guidance.

\- Gu—ga—what? – Quiet stared hopelessly at the lady.

\- They might be able to show the way, where you need to go – she offered.

\- Oh, alright. They sound kind.

\- I am certain they will help you, even the demons.

Quiet frowned again. Demons were bad! He did not like demons! They were ugly, skerry and tried to kill him many times. This lady was convinced that there were good demons too, but he was not so sure about that. But he kept his opinion to himself as Amaniel patted his head again:

\- I wish you luck on your journey, Quiet. And I am grateful that you are back, no matter the _sirrkumstances_.

\- I'm happy I met you. You are a nice lady – Quiet reached up and patted the big finger in return.

Amaniel withdrew to her spot and lowered her head, looking at the pool.

Quiet woke up on his mat, yawning widely. He had twisted his blanket around himself as usual, because it was warm and soft, and it reminded him of Leendonn. He liked it, but he did not like that he had to climb out of it in the morning. Teeriel was already packing away his things, wiping his mouth free from the bread crumbs from his breakfast.

\- Morning – he said.

-… Yes, it is morning – Quiet agreed after a pause at this strange sentence.

Teeriel looked at him for a second then turned back to his things, chuckling:

\- I meant "good morning". This is how we greet others in the morning. Leendonn never said it to you?

\- No, he asked me how I slept – Quiet shook his head then thought for a moment. – But good morning.

Teeriel nodded.

\- Let's get going. We need to put more distance between us and where _Eyrena_ had attacked us.

\- Eyrena?

\- The woman who turned me into a chicken. I—I don't know why her hostility shocks me… I should have foreseen it. _Kormak_ was very much the same – Teeriel mumbled, clearly sad, only Quiet didn't know why he was sad.

The bald man then looked around, frowning slightly.

\- Strange – he mumbled to himself.

Quiet glanced up at the big rock. He patted the knee of the rock, smiling:

\- Thank you for the good sleep, Amaniel.

Teeriel wasn't paying attention, he was busy lifting all their stuff to his back.

\- Let's go, In—Quiet. Can you part the rocks so we can squeeze through?

He still had trouble with his name, but Quiet figured that was the best he would get for now. So he wordlessly obeyed and opened up a way forward for them, back to the big forest. He made sure to seal the entrance back, though.

No one should bother Amaniel.

* * *

 **It's time to improve your vocabulary, Quiet! Let's start with some big words. That will surely work! :D**

 **Also, yay, Eirena's here! I wonder where and how she will end up. This is gonna be fun!**

 **Well, it's not exactly rapidfire, but I am proud of the speed this chapter came around at. I think I am over my Writer's Block. It's not easy, trying to slightly degrade my vocabulary whenever I write a Quiet-centric chapter.**

 **As always, thank you, cupcakes, for your continued patience and support!**

 **Lore & Trivia Corner**

\- Eirena's abilities are from the game itself. The two mentioned are _Mass Control_ (the chicken spell), _Forceful Push_ (the knockback spell), and _Erosion_ that deals damage in an area. She might receive made up spells later on in the story, but for now her in-game kit is enough to roll with.

\- Amaniel is based on another ancient soul within the lore. During the Sin War, Uldyssian accidentally stumbles upon the ruins of a temple-like structure where the sliver of a demon took up residence. As they fight, it turns out (to the reader, at least) that the nameless demon was once a follower of Inarius. During the Purge, his angel love was killed before he was and his unadulterated rage and grief shackled a part of his soul to Sanctuary. In his rage, he attacks anyone who senses him, at the same time he is capable of showing compassion to those who also lost someone important to them. While the books weren't the height of literature I've ever read, this scene was among my top favorite ones. It is also one of the few (if not the **only** ) instances in the entire Diablo franchise where a demon is actually an okay dude. We could use a few more of those, wouldn't you agree?

\- Groves, hidden grottos are awesome. I love em. :D Especially when they have like a little pond or a stream or something.


	44. Chapter 44

**_Chapter 44_**

Where was the—There!

Tyrael caught yet _another_ glimpse of the same black smudge at the edge of his vision. It had left them while they were inside that strange (and definitely enchanted) grove, but now it was back, and the fallen angel needed to exert less and less effort to consciously register it.

He did not like this detail at all.

Whatever that black thing was, it was just appearing far too regularly at this point. Tyrael could see it for the third time today as they trudged through the open woods around these parts. Something was following them, it seemed, but his senses just refused to pick up any other clue. No auras, no noises, nothing. As long as this thing did not make any moves, Tyrael couldn't do anything but observe, and he really hated doing that.

At the very least, he had managed to locate themselves on the map, so now nothing could stop them (in theory) from finally reaching Bramwell on their journey, even with that slight detour they had to take because of Eirena.

Anu help him, it was _only_ the **first** town…

Still, Tyrael couldn't be happier to learn that they were close to Bramwell. Mostly because Quiet (let's just call him that from now on) was an **abysmally** spoiled child. The little angel was whining without stop when Tyrael tried to get him to walk at a faster pace, and outside of that he was just mulling about, paying attention to anything that _wasn't_ the trek towards Bramwell. All this just screamed of Lyndon and his constant cuddling. The mortal angel remembered how was the first few weeks of traveling together with the scoundrel: it was the exact same hell of bickering as this current one.

 _I'm going to strangle you the next time we meet, Lyndon. Just so you know_ , Tyrael grumbled for the n-th time, when he discovered Quiet had fallen back yet again to stare at some trees.

\- Ina—Quiet! Would you hurry up?! – the mortal angel called back to him impatiently.

\- You are running! I'm tired!

\- I am not running, I am walking at an acceptable speed! If we want to get to anywhere, we need to move faster than what you had gotten used to with Lyndon.

Quiet glanced back at the trees. Tyrael took a long moment to stop himself from shouting, and instead look at the little one's body language: small hands clutching each other, wings quivering.

\- Did you see something? – the mortal angel walked back to his companion, following his line of sight.

-… It was black.

\- Black? Did it have a shape? – Tyrael glanced at Quiet.

-… No. Smudgy.

\- Are you sure it is not an animal?

\- No, I did no feel anyone there.

-… I am seeing it too – Tyrael finally admitted.

Quiet turned to him with big eyes.

\- I do not know what it is – the mortal angel went on. – It's following us. But unless it actually does something, we cannot do anything about it.

\- It's skerry.

\- Yes… it is. Let's go. If we reach Bramwell, it might leave us alone – Tyrael offered.

\- Alright – Quiet mumbled and hurriedly scuttled after his companion.

Honestly, after this discovery, Tyrael half-expected that black smudge to ambush them from behind. However, by some unknown reason, or perhaps insane luck, they reached Bramwell by mid-afternoon without any incident. Tyrael was honestly bewildered.

At this point, this could be considered a miracle in its own right.

Quiet was completely spent from the quick walking by the time they reached the border of the town, so Tyrael had to carry him in one arm. The mortal angel refrained from complaining, he guessed he should be thankful that he had managed to get Quiet to go faster. He let out a relieved a sigh as he spotted the wooden plank walls of Bramwell, and beyond that, streaks of chimney smoke towards the sky. All they needed to do now was pass by the cemetery that was beyond the city walls, and…

… Tyrael almost fell over in a smaller gravestone that appeared right before his legs. He stumbled forward with a muffled curse, jostling Quiet out of his half-asleep state. Stunned, Tyrael looked around.

Bramwell's cemetery, the cemetery that was supposed to be a good 30-40 meters to the right from them, was suddenly around them, and was filled with fog. The town itself disappeared, and so did the simple iron gate that led into this place. Quiet's small fingers curled into Tyrael's cape with panicked hurry.

\- Teeriel? – the little angel asked in a small voice.

\- Stay close. Whatever happens, do **not** leave my side – the mortal angel ordered as he gently placed Quiet on the ground, his eyes not leaving his surroundings.

He summoned El'druin and was relieved somewhat to see the sword appear in his hand. Adjusting his backpack, Tyrael willed his weapon to shine with a stronger light, hoping to disperse the fog around them. Besides him, Quiet also pulled out the black dagger Lyndon had gifted him, but his hands shook madly.

\- Alright. You have us exactly where you want us to be. Show yourself now, fiend! – Tyrael spoke up loudly.

Nothing happened. Was this Eirena? She was a true expert on illusions, but Tyrael had never seen her actually cast one before.

\- Do you feel something, Quiet? Anything? – Tyrael whispered.

\- Bad magic…

\- Is it like Eirena's?

-… No. It's like that bad angel Maltael's.

That made Tyrael catch his breath. Malthael was after them?! Why? How?! Most importantly, how can they get out of here, and what happened to Bramwell, if Malthael was truly here?! The mortal angel immediately pictured streets covered by pale corpses and screaming souls darting among buildings. Malthael was never known for giving up on an idea of his, until he brought it to fruition. Death was nothing for an Archangel on the long—

Quiet screamed and Tyrael moved faster than his brain could catch up. He grabbed Quiet by his arm and _ran_ , vaulting over a good number of gravestones in the process. Something heavy smacked into the ground behind them with enough force to pulverize both of them. With his heart racing in his throat, Tyrael zig-zagged among the graves, dragging the completely frozen Quiet along. Something long lashed out and missed them by a few centimeters. Tyrael dashed to his right, rolling over his head to finally look back from where they had been standing.

Something moved in the fog. It was big, long, and… scaly? Tyrael could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a lizard-like limb for a second there. Whatever the hell it was, it was creeping around them, carefully staying in the haze.

\- Show yourself and face us honorably, demon! – the mortal angel shouted at the apparition.

Quiet whimpered and tried to drag him backwards futilely by his traveling cape.

 ** _Should have listened._**

Tyrael had to jump to the left from the long whip-like tail that struck out at him. Quiet fell into the opposite direction in his panic.

 ** _You should have listened._**

Tyrael needed a few moments to realize that the disgusting hissing, rotting voice in his head came from the scaly bastard in the fog. Alright, so the demon **was** intelligent enough to talk, even if the words it spoke did not make any sense. He could work with that. He could work with just about anything that **wasn't** Malthael.

\- I had a pretty bad few days as of late – Tyrael growled. – You have picked the worst possible time to attack, you spawn of Hell! What have you done to Bramwell?!

Instead of an answer, a clawed hand came sailing out of the fog, barely giving Tyrael enough time to dodge it. It had freakishly long fingers and even longer nails, but the palm itself was surprisingly humanoid. Tyrael tried to counter with his sword but by then the limb had already retreated into the haze. This demon was one fast bastard… but also surprisingly restrained. The mortal angel's nerves were on edge, he was ready to cast his force field against whatever magical attack it might throw at him, but that just didn't come.

Surely, if the demon was capable of trapping them in this cemetery, then it wouldn't only attack with clumsy physical strikes, right?

\- Quiet, can you disperse the—Quiet? – Tyrael called over his shoulder, before realizing that the little angel wasn't next to him anymore.

With panicked hurry, he looked around, but all he could see were endless rows of gravestones.

\- Quiet! - he shouted, hoping that his companion was merely hiding.

 ** _You could have killed him. You_** **should** ** _have killed him!_**

Tyrael struck first this time. El'druin sank into the side of the incoming tail, the scale breaking and splinting the carapace of a bug, instead of that of a lizard. The limb retreated with a furious and incredibly disgusting hiss.

 ** _Traitor!_**

\- Quiet, come on! We must defeat this fiend together – Tyrael called out again, to no avail.

He started running aimlessly around the gravestones, trying to spot the little angel.

 ** _Traitor to Sanctuary!_**

\- SHUT THE **HELL** UP! – Tyrael roared as loudly as he could muster at the cowardly monster, stunning it into blissful silence.

Human mannerism could be so useful at times! Tyrael used these precious seconds to truly **look** at his surroundings. The Bramwell cemetery was pretty much infinite, with endless rows of gravestones and small altars. Some parts were encircled by iron fences, probably the burial grounds of wealthier families. There were a couple of the usual creepy statues of crying women in long robes. The grass was healthy, and pebble paths snaked around the tombs. The fog was ridiculously thick a few dozen meters away from Tyrael, but the angel could finally notice a few tell-tale signs: the graves, statues and everything else **repeated**. The cemetery didn't grow unbelievably wide all of a sudden, it was merely copied and pasted over and over again.

So this **was** a mere illusion. Why, that was Tyrael's specialty.

The fallen angel concentrated, willed the layers of this apparition to unravel themselves. In the meantime, he wondered where the demon had gone. Surely, the stun had worn off by now.

 ** _Don't! You will doom everything!_**

Ah, there it was.

\- Where is Quiet? – Tyrael hissed between his teeth as he pierced his gaze through the haze.

The fog was dissipating. The fallen angel could catch glimpses of the brick wall that surrounded the cemetery. The copied patches of land shimmered and flickered but held on... for now. Tyrael's former powers to strip away illusions had diminished greatly with his fall (just like everything else), but he still had it. Given enough time, he knew he could break the whole spectacle down to nothing. Time that… the demon strangely seemed like it would provide.

 ** _Stop! You had sworn to protect Sanctuary, you traitor!_**

\- You are too occupied to stop me, aren't you? – growled Tyrael, his eyes shining gold as he looked around.

And if that was true, that could have only meant one thing…

The sheer power struck him in his belly before he could properly notice it. He staggered back but could finally see what was going on. A dozen or so meters away from him Quiet was crouching on the ground, curling into himself with eyes screwed shut, and shaking from the effort. He was crying, clearly terrified to his core. Around him a red aura of power pulsed, it tried to fight off a dark haze that seemed to be weighing down on it. The darkness angrily swirled around the bubble, pale hands and faces surfaced from it to attack.

Tyrael lunged forward, El'druin at the ready.

 ** _No!_**

The distorted clawed hand came swinging from the fog, and this time Tyrael couldn't dodge it. He smacked straight into the slimy cold palm and was sent flying backwards. He crashed into a gravestone, and it was only thanks to his backpack and all its contents taking the hit, that his spine remained intact.

In retrospect, the demon had saved his life.

Quiet's eyes flew open and he **screamed**. The infernal sound shook the ground to its core, cracks burst open, sending forth all sorts of terrible disasters: molten fire, noxious gases, jets of hot water, frenzied roots of plants, rabid rodents that attacked everything on sight, the gravestones included. Quiet struck forward with the black dagger. Its blade sunk into the dark haze, actually **cutting** and weakening it considerably. The red aura rapidly expanded, with the unseen scaly demon audibly struggling to keep his attack up.

 ** _No! Damn you! You will not leave here! Sanctuary must—_**

Tyrael had to shield his face from the explosion that cut the screeching off. He was certain his hearing had failed him, his clothes were singed from the shockwave. Only the broken gravestone at his back stopped him from tumbling further backwards.

In an instant, stillness took over. Tyrael's ears rang, he could hear nothing but that insufferable sound. Lowering his arms slowly, he beheld destruction in its purest form. Bramwell's cemetery was irreversibly gone. The ground was uphove, cooling liquid fire and steaming water bubbled in pools, remaining clouds of noxious gases rolled across the ruins lazily. The rats angrily chewed at statues, iron fences and gravestones. Nothing left standing, even the brick walls completely crumbled. The grass burnt out where the ground wasn't straight up torn up.

Quiet was still crouching in the middle of a burn mark, visibly heaving, eyes staring emptily at the ground, hands clutching his head. Tyrael realized he was still deaf, and not only that, but there was something warm trickling down on the sides of his head. A chill of worry ran down his spine. Movement caught his eye, however, and he stared to his left. The militia of Bramwell was gathering at the ruined gates of the cemetery, visibly shouting orders, pointing at Tyrael and Quiet, brandishing weapons.

There was no way Tyrael in his deafness could properly explain the events. The city's cemetery, all the deceased who were laid down to rest were all utterly gone, and the demon responsible was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully it was killed in the massive explosion. And Quiet was clearly in no condition to be asked questions.

Making a split-second decision, Tyrael launched himself, zig-zagged across the hazardous landscape, grabbed Quiet into a tight hug and ran for it.

oooOOOooo

It was almost incredible, how much Tyrael had taken his hearing for granted. Not being able to hear the thuds of his boots on the ground, the swooshing of his traveling cape, or his own labored breathing, all this made running and navigation incredibly difficult, as if he had lost direct contact with his own body. It was a surreal and horrifying experience but he didn't have the luxury of stopping and analyzing it.

He had also no idea how close or far the pursuing militia might have been, which did not help matters in the slightest.

Thankfully, with the shell-shocked Quiet in his arms, the infernal subterranean menaces parted before them, not a single one of them harmed them in any way. They did however seem to converge on the advancing militia, and Tyrael could only hope they could gain enough of a headstart out of that for a clean escape.

After a while he realized the ground was moving with him. Staring down, he saw the earth turning semi-liquid, following his steps and giving him extra speed, as if he was riding a wave. The sight was very disorienting, but Tyrael tore his gaze away and the previous sense of stability returned. Either Quiet or one of the gods were helping him, and the fallen angel decided to roll with it and put some much needed distance between them and the rightfully angered Bramwell people.

At sunset they finally stopped, atop a small hill and under the shade of a lonely oak. Tyrael stared daggers at the tree, at this point he was fully expecting it to attack them in some manner. Literally everything that could have gone wrong, **had** gone wrong on this journey so far. It was starting to reach comedic levels but Tyrael didn't feel like laughing.

Pulling his fingers away from his ear, he noted numbly that it was indeed bleeding. He tried not to think about the ramifications One of the unlucky duo was already in shock, he couldn't allow himself to lose his head as well. So Tyrael busied himself with inspecting the tree from top to bottom, forcing his sight to work overtime. He was still clutching Quiet to his chest who had proceeded to turn himself into a tight shaky ball. When the plant remained unassumingly ordinary, he carefully set the little angel down at its base. Quiet hugged his knees to his chest and emptily stared forward. Tyrael plopped down next to him with a loud sigh and assessed their losses.

Dodging had been an absolute hell with the backpack on him, but in the end it saved his spine from snapping into two, at the expense of pretty much everything in it. The ink bottle, the potions and the small clay bowls of salves were all shattered and their content found its way into every inch. The dried food prepared by Haile got soaked and ruined, so were the sleeping mats – although at the very least those could be washed and dried, even if some of the stains would never come out.

Still, if he had to choose between his ability to move, and the content of his backpack, Tyrael chose his mobility without hesitation.

He felt a pair of eyes on him. Looking to his left he saw Quiet staring up at him with tear-filled but expecting eyes. Tyrael grimaced and gestured at his ear, hopelessly shrugging. Quiet narrowed his eyes at that, before opening them wide with realization. He stood up and reached out, to which Tyrael slightly ducked his head. Quiet cupped his ears with his hands and closed his eyes for a second.

Something stirred inside Tyrael's skull, an incredibly unnerving feeling that quickly grew terribly itchy and annoying. The mortal angel forced himself to remain still, and eventually more and more sounds came back to him. First, the flow of blood in his head, then his own breathing, then slowly and surely the sounds of their surroundings, the breeze, the rustling of the leaves, and everything else.

These have only been gone for a few hours at most, yet how much Tyrael had missed them!

\- Thank you – he breathed out, happy to hear his own voice again.

Quiet pulled back, plopping back down onto the ground.

\- Is the bad monster gone? – he asked in a fragile voice.

\- I hope so – Tyrael nodded. – With any luck, that big explosion you have caused killed it.

\- It was so skerry – Quiet whispered, staring at the ground. – I was so skerd… I did something very bad…

The mortal angel sighed at this, leaning back against the tree.

\- True, Bramwell will more than likely never forgive us for destroying their cemetery, but it was not our fault it happened.

\- I blew it up.

\- Yes, but you did it out self-defense. And you had no other choice, as much as I could see. The only blame is on the demon… but it's probably dead now, so it doesn't matter anymore.

Quiet stared at him again in full disbelief. Tyrael returned the glare with the same amount of confusion.

\- What's the matter?

-… When will you be angry?

\- Angry? I'm not—

Suddenly it dawned on Tyrael.

\- Do you think I will reprimand you for destroying the cemetery? – he asked.

\- What's rep—rer—repi—?

\- _Reprimand_. It means to express to someone your disapproval of them.

Quiet looked positively hopelessly lost at this.

\- It is when someone talks or shouts angrily at someone else for doing something they didn't like or didn't think it was wise – Tyrael tried again, internally cringing at the simplistic explanation.

\- Yes. That – Quiet finally nodded.

\- I'm not angry – Tyrael shook his head. – I'm only angry when you are doing something needlessly foolish or dangerous. But we were fighting back then, against a barely visible foe. Nobody can fault you for fighting back.

\- So... so no shouting?

\- No shouting.

\- Are you sure?

\- Yes, I am sure, I—Quiet.

\- That's… good? – the little angel mumbled, returning his gaze to the horizon.

Tyrael grimaced but remained silent. It shouldn't have been a surprise to him that Quiet was expecting an angry outburst. He had to wonder if Lyndon had so much as _looked_ at the little angel angrily before. The scoundrel had been surprisingly gentle and kind during that brief time Tyrael saw them interact. There was no way the mortal angel could ever replicate that. He needed a different approach, something more… diplomatic.

\- Alright, Quiet – he stretched his arms, making up his mind finally. – Let us come to an agreement.

\- We are going to that grassy place, not to Agreeeeeeemant – Quiet frowned at him.

\- I meant let's agree on something.

\- Oh. What?

\- I promise I will not shout, only in very dangerous situations and when you do a very big mistake that could have terrible consequences.

\- Konse—what?

\- _Consequences_. This is an important word, learn it. It means something that happens because of what you have done or decided on in the past. Consequences can be good or bad, and we always need to be ready to accept them and learn from them.

Quiet once again looked utterly clueless. Tyrael massaged his neck tiredly. He was going to have to expand the little angel's vocabulary somehow.

\- For example, let's pretend it is raining, alright? – he finally came up with something. – If I decide to travel in the rain without my cape covering my entire body, the consequences of that decision will be that I get soaking wet, and probably also sick soon after.

\- Aaaaaaa! – Quiet realized. Tyrael could practically see the candle light up above his head in enlightenment.

\- That's just one example. Consequences can be minor—very small, or huge—very large – Tyrael went on, forcing himself to downgrade his manner of speech. – They can be very good or very very dangerous. So, let's agree that I will only shout at you when you do something very bad that will probably have very dangerous consequences. And, in return, you promise that you will listen to what I have to say and pay attention. Can we agree on that?

Quiet raised his little hand, one finger on his invisible mouth as he thought long and hard. His eyes gradually narrowed at Tyrael who maintained the perfect pokerface throughout the whole time.

\- Will you be mean? – the little angel asked carefully.

\- I promise I won't be mean, but I **will** tell you if you made a mistake, so you can learn from it. That is why it is important that you listen.

Quiet kept glancing at him suspiciously, his little wings rising and lowering, giving away the lines of thoughts in that tiny head.

\- Is this what grownups do? Soffia said grownups talk instead of shouting and being mean – he asked after a pause.

\- Yes, it is what grownups do, they calmly talk about things, even those they do not agree on – Tyrael nodded, smiling to himself.

Of course Sophie would have had a conversation with the little angel. It's just like her not to leave anything to chance.

Eventually, Quiet exhaled loudly:

\- Alright. I do no like shouting.

\- It is agreed then – Tyrael reached out in a handshaking gesture.

He had to teach the little angel how to shake on a deal, but the child quickly got the hang of it.

With that, they made camp and Tyrael started planning for the road ahead, while Quiet busied himself with saving and "repairing" whatever he could from the backpack. The mortal angel stared at his map, trying to devise at least two backup plans, should the original idea go south… like it had done so far.

\- No bad magic here – Quiet murmured as he slowly reunited the pieces of a broken salve vase, returning the cream into it as well.

Tyrael took that comment as a good sign that the unknown demon truly had been killed back there, and they would have one less enemy to worry about on the long run. He briefly turned his gaze towards the skies, silently asking for a bit more of this good luck from the gods of Sanctuary.

Or Anu. Or whoever was listening at this point.

* * *

 **Well, another month, another roller-coaster of life, amIright? You guys wouldn't believe the stuff I went through lately. From a terribly painful betrayal of a friend I had trusted, to starting at a new workplace, to doing a Concept Art course, to working out the map of the Sin War trilogy as best as I could, and finally to having officially graduated from my university. This last month was incredibly weird and forced me to adapt quickly or die, basically. I'm not gonna lie to you, there was a brief period where it seemed like this fanfic will die from the shock it and I had to go through. But those few days of darkness are long behind us and with Auriel's blessing, we are moving forward.**

 **As a result, Act III had gone through a bit of a goal and tone change. Nothing major and nothing that would cause confusion to you, cupcakes, never fear that. As always, I thank you for your patience, your attention and your kind words. I appreciate every review/comment you give me. Please feel free to tell me if this chapter feels off… I have temporarily lost my touch due to this last month and I need time to get back on the road.**

 **With my new job on my hands, things will probably go slow (so basically, the same as up to this point :P), but this fanfic will remain strong and ongoing, mark my words!**

 **The Map of the events of the Sin War Trilogy, and the information gathered about it:**

kenyizsu-.-tumblr-.-com-(slash)-post/187603149400/a-map-of-the-possible-locations-of-the-sin-war


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